


Atonement

by dontforgettohugyourangel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontforgettohugyourangel/pseuds/dontforgettohugyourangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Lord Voldemort’s victory, Hermione Granger is captured and bought by Draco Malfoy, the Dark Lord’s most trusted servant. The longer she stays at Malfoy Manor the more she comes to learn that while Malfoy is vicious and unrelenting, not everything is what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> Much love and gratitude to my unfailing beta Bethann. The HP Lexicon is made of win because I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without it. There are a few Hannibal references (mostly dialogue) around in the middle. If you spot it you get a cookie! 
> 
> And this is, of course, for Ning! I really enjoyed writing this piece and I hope it’s everything you wanted and none of what you didn’t want.

This was not how things were supposed to happen. In books, the right side always triumphed. Good defeated evil. Peace and justice for all. This was not how this was meant to end. They were supposed to have won. She was certain of it. She had never known anything else. Sure they had their close shaves in the past; seemingly impossible situations where the great Harry Potter was knocked to his knees and there was no hope of him getting back up. But he always got up. He always fought back.  
  
Three months ago was the first time Hermione Granger ever saw Harry Potter not get up. When Hagrid laid the lifeless body of the Boy Who Lived on the ground in front of the people who had fought so long and hard for him, the stunned silence was loud enough to shatter the remaining windows of the castle. She remembered grabbing onto Ron for support and then she remembered running for her life.  
  
There had been about ten of them to start with, hunted like dogs and one by one they had been picked off. Parvati Patil and her sister Padma were captured by Snatchers and never heard of again. Terry Boot was hit with the killing curse as they fled Liverpool. And Ron…  
  
Hermione shook her head as if to clear it and her surroundings came vividly into focus. Crowded into a small thicket of trees the group of seven was huddled together, silence hanging over them like impending doom. She looked from each shadowed face to the next and felt her stomach clench.  
  
As the last surviving member of the Golden Trio it was she that they all looked to for guidance. She was the one who decided every move they made. She decided when they would depart from their current destinations and when they would arrive at their future ones. She made all the plans.  
  
It was something she was not yet used to. Harry always had the plan. She was responsible for the execution but Harry was the one with the ideas. She was really bad at coming up with ideas. Her eyes closed on the scene in front of her but the image of the group remained in her mind. Luna Lovegood’s eyes glowing in the firelight watching Neville Longbottom stoke the fire, Seamus Finnigan huddled close to Lavender Brown, Owen Cauldwell, still in his Hogwarts uniform, Ginny Weasley’s belly swollen in her lap. How she and Harry found time for any of that Hermione didn’t know. Then again she and Ron had found time enough for that…  
  
Her eyes snapped open again. There was a small cracking sound just to her left and the whipping of her head was mimicked by the others in the circle.  
  
“What is it Hermione?” Ginny asked, her hand moving protectively over her stomach.  
  
Hermione shook her head and the silence enveloped them.  
  
“Nothing I guess.”  
  
As soon as the words left her mouth the fire was snuffed and a scream either from Lavender or Luna, Hermione could not tell, splintered the dark like a beater’s bat.  
  
Panic flooded her limbs and she struggled to get to her feet, reaching blindly into the shadows with one hand, pulling out her wand with the other. They were all shouting now, scuffling and sounds of struggle filled her ears. She felt her hand collide with something solid and then fingers wrapped around the wrist of her free hand while her other was knocked hard. She felt her wrist snap and her wand slipped from her grasp as a strong arm wrapped around her waist and a hand clamped over her mouth and nose.  
  
The last thing Hermione remembers was the feeling of a wand pressed to her temple and the word “Stupefy” growled into her ear.  
  
  



	2. Bought and Sold

Her first thought was pain. The stabbing kind that was so persistent that you almost pray for the numbness of unconsciousness to come back. But she couldn’t stay unconscious. She had to fight. It was her job to protect them. They were following her lead. She decided they would be safest in that thicket of trees. She told them it was safe enough to have a fire. They trusted her.  
  
Hermione forced her eyes open, and even though the room was dimly lit, her skull still felt as if it were being split in two. She waited for her eyes to focus, for her stomach to stop churning. She was met with the murky vision of four walls of smoothed stone and a heavy wooden door. No windows. She pulled herself tentatively to her feet, stretching her limbs, turning her wrist, feeling the remnants of a healing spell. She walked around, running her hands cautiously over the walls, hoping for something, anything. Questions whizzed around her brain like gnats on a summer day. Where was she? How long had she been here? Was she alone? Where were the others?  
  
She thought of Luna and her quiet strength and ready mind, she thought of Neville and his burning courage and blind loyalty, Ginny and her fierce bravery and swollen belly carrying Harry’s child. Hermione could not help but feel, as she returned to the spot she had started in her journey around the room, that she had failed them all.   
  
Her knees gave way and she slid down the wall onto the straw covered floor, fighting the tears, fighting the panic. She sat there for what could have been days but was more likely hours. She could feel herself nodding off, her head lolling to one side.  
  
It was then the heavy wooden door swung open, the light streaming into the room blinding her. Heavy boots were stomping towards her and a large hand tangled itself in her hair, dragging her across the floor.   
  
Hermione struggled to get her feet beneath her, to ease the pull on her scalp but it was no use, for her captor was moving too fast. Her eyes began to focus and the same windowless stone walls were sliding by her, torches anchored to the walls every few feet. The dampness of the air seemed to indicate that they were underground.   
  
They stopped briefly, she slamming into the back of her captor’s legs as he swung open another door. She was hurled callously inside, her body rolling from the force, elbows and knees banging against the floor until her shoulder hit a ledge of some kind. Dizzy and bruised, Hermione lay still, her body propped against the wooden ledge she had collided with so violently.  
  
“One Mudblood bitch,” a low gravelly voice from behind her growled, “Untouched as you requested.”  
  
Hermione raised herself on shaking arms, looking back to see a large man who’s face was obscured by shadows. Her eyes focused as best they could with her heart pounding so hard it almost shook her eyes out of their sockets. She was in a very large room with a high ceiling, well lit but not bright enough to see the corners of the room. The wooden ledge she had collided with seemed to be some sort of stage. Bracing her hands against the ledge she pulled herself up.   
  
Swift footsteps coming up behind her and a hand was in her hair again, her body being drug onto the platform. She was thrown violently down again, her chin colliding with the floor. She tasted blood; it tasted like hopelessness, like despair, like failure.   
  
“Now, now McNair,” a drawling voice sang from the shadows. “That’ll do.”  
  
Even though it hurt like hell, Hermione snapped her head up and saw Draco Malfoy emerge from the shadows. He was taller than she remembered; his hair was longer, still slicked back but now barely grazing the collar of his robes. His silver eyes shone out of the darkness and bile rose in her throat as he advanced toward her. He cocked his head to the side, regarding her curiously. McNair stepped over her to stand next to him, shifting his feet impatiently.  
  
Malfoy ripped his eyes from her and looked exasperatedly at McNair. Reaching into his robes he pulled out a coin purse and dropped it into McNair’s hand, which sagged under the weight.  
  
“So much for one Mudblood,” McNair mused, pulling a golden galleon out of the purse and holding it up to the light.   
  
“Come now McNair,” Malfoy chides, reaching down to cup Hermione’s chin. “It’s Hermione Granger. The brains behind the infamous Golden Trio.”  
  
Hermione slapped his hand away and struggled to her feet, scratching blindly for him. He stepped back and suddenly she was immobile, falling hard off the edge of the platform, her face colliding with the stone floor, feeling her nose break.  
  
“Still got some fight in her,” McNair observed, putting his wand back in his pocket as Malfoy leaned down to brush the hair out of Hermione’s face with a gloved hand. “I know a rather good way to break her.” McNair’s face twisted into a nasty grin.  
  
“So do I,” Malfoy sneered coldly. “And I certainly don’t need your help doing it.”  
  
Malfoy stood to full height again and clapped his hands together twice. Two small house elves appeared out of nowhere.  
  
“Sawney, Zilla, take Miss Granger home.”  
  



	3. Malfoy Manor

Sidelong apparition with a house elf is very different from wizarding apparition. There’s no squeezing, or unpleasant breathlessness. One minute you’re in one place and the next you are in another. The place that Hermione Granger ended up was the lavish entry hall of Malfoy Manor. She hadn’t been there since the night they had been captured and she had been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. The sight of the drawing room was enough to make her stomach turn, memories slicing open her heart like knives.  
  
A few moments later the tall, sweeping frame of Draco Malfoy entered through the front door. Hermione, still immobile from her full body bind, was forced to stand there as he came within a breath’s distance from her. He walked around her, surveying her as if he were evaluating a piece of property.  
  
“Master Malfoy wishes to hand Gadsby his cloak?”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see a small wrinkled house elf wearing a tablecloth toga style. Draco pulled the drawstring on his cloak, allowing the fabric to fall heavily into the arms of the elderly elf, who scurried away with it.  
  
“You know how long I have waited for this?” Draco whispered, continuing his vulture like circles around her.   
  
Hermione forced the bile from her throat as he stepped closer to her, his nose pressing into her hair, his chest brushing against her back as he inhaled. When he came face to face with her again he was smiling. A wave of his hand lifted the body bind and she collapsed to the floor, the two small elves scurrying to get out from under her.  
  
“You are mine now,” Draco’s voice was saying, haughty and sure, as he walked around her body, nothing but a heap of limbs on the floor. “You are confined to the manor grounds and when there is company you are confined to your quarters unless summoned. If and when you are summoned you are to speak only when spoken to. Failure to comply with these rules will result in-” he paused, cupping her chin, tilting her face to look up at him, “-dire consequences.”  
  
It was then that the culmination of the past day’s events hit her full force. Hermione’s eyes blazed, reaching out to pummel him as best she could. His fingers clamped around her biceps, holding her steady, laughing as she struggled against his strength. His smile faded as he threw her to the ground again.   
  
“Sawney, Zilla, take Miss Granger to her room,” Draco said coldly, pulling his gloves from his hands.   
  
“If Mistress Cissy knew what Zilla was doing,” Hermione heard one of the small elves mutter, “Catering to filthy Mudbloods.”  
  
Draco’s movement was so swift that it was almost imperceptible. A flourish of his wand and the elf was rolling on the ground, screaming in pain. Draco snatched her up by her table cloth and threw her across the room.  
  
“THAT WORD IS NOT TO BE SPOKEN IN MY HOUSE!!!” His voice reverberated off the walls. He brought his hands together in a thunderous clap and thousands of eyes appeared in the shadows. “Any elf who uses that word will be given clothes is that understood!?”  
  
The murmuring of hundreds of frightened elves rumbled into the room. Draco’s cold grey stare fell onto Sawney who cowered against Hermione.   
  
“Now as I said,” Draco said, squaring his shoulders, gaining some composure, “Take Miss Granger to her room.”  
  



	4. Dinner with the Devil

Malfoy Manor was an interesting place to live. Sprawling grounds, exotic animals, and every amenity a witch could even think of. If it wasn’t for the whole being held captive by your worst enemy thing, Hermione Granger could have had some semblance of happiness there. As it was, her luxurious accommodations did nothing but anger her. It was the worst kind of torture, this lack of torture.   
  
One week had passed since her arrival and she found that Draco Malfoy was true to his word. She had access to every part of the manor and its grounds. House elves brought her meals, drew her baths. To the outside observer it would seem as if she were his honored guest instead of his hostage. It was enough to make her seethe.   
  
Out of sheer spite she had kept to her quarters, which was satisfying in the sense that she never had to lay eyes on her captor, but the room itself was a testament to the sick mind game Malfoy was no doubt trying to play with her.  
  
Her room was spacious and exquisitely feminine, soft silk sheets, gauzy sheers draping the mantel bed. The lavishness of the space was offset by small personal touches; trinkets and heirlooms sitting on dressers and shelves, perfume and beauty potions on the vanity. These things she did not touch for she knew who they belonged to and while Narcissa Malfoy was long dead, it seemed that she lived on in this space, kept exactly the same, like a shrine. That is until Hermione got there.   
  
Her thoughts and dreams were plagued by her friends, both living and dead. Well living as far as she knew. She missed Luna’s eccentric musings, Neville’s ineptness at everything involving coordination, Ginny’s blind hope, Harry’s fierce bravery, Ron’s gentle kiss…   
  
All these thoughts were a big, jumbled mess inside her head as she watched yet another sunset over the sprawling lawn. There was a soft knock at her door and she turned her head to see the small crouching form of Gadsby, bowing his way into the room.   
  
Hermione sighed. Every night was the same. The frail little elf, whose sole job was doing Draco Malfoy’s bidding, would come in and tell her that his master requested her presence at dinner and every evening she would respond scathingly, using speech that the elderly elf would never repeat lest he wanted clothes.  
  
“Miss Hermione, Master Draco requests your presence for dinner.” Gadsby’s large ears twitched as he bowed to her as best he could.  
  
“Tell him to Crucio himself,” Hermione muttered, turning resolutely back to the window.  
  
“Master Draco says you will come on your own or he will use the Imperius...” Hermione’s head snapped to look at the elf, who was wringing his ears in a most uncharacteristic way, “…and you’ll get the strongest desire to take off your clothes before coming down.”  
  
Hermione’s mouth fell open as Gadsby shifted his feet uncomfortably. She gritted her teeth before standing and watching the little elf sigh with relief. He trotted on ahead of her, down the hall, past the empty walls where boxes in the faded wallpaper suggested lines of portraits must have once hung there. Down the grand staircase and past the drawing room, she followed the elf until he stopped and swung open a large door, opening the dining room to her.  
  
Draco Malfoy was sitting at the head of the table and stood as she entered the room. He gestured to the seat next to him and she crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing the long banquet style table. She made her way to the chair at the opposite end and just as she was about to reach out and grab it, Malfoy snapped his fingers and all the chairs vanished except for two; his and the one right next to him.  
  
A small smile was playing across his lips as she stomped over and grabbed the back of the chair, having every childish intention of dragging it across the room and away from him. She nearly tore her shoulder from its socket when the chair didn’t budge.  
  
Malfoy’s smile has faded now and they glared coldly at each other until she sank into the chair, swallowing her pride for what seemed like the millionth time that week. Malfoy took his seat after her, a true gentleman to the last.  
  
“Very nice of you to join me, Miss Granger,” he said, pouring wine into her glass and then his own. “I trust you are adjusting well?”  
  
She scoffed, staring down at her empty plate.  
  
“Is there anything you need?”  
  
He was met with stony silence as the plates filled themselves with lamb chops and potatoes. A fleeting memory of Hogwarts slipped through her mind but she shoved it away. She picked up her fork and knife and began to work on her food, thinking the sooner she’s finished the sooner she’d be out of his presence.  
  
“Is there anything you would like?”  
  
Hermione slammed her silverware down with a clatter, and raised her eyes to meet his. His face was blank, aside from a questioning lilt of his eyebrow.  
  
“My freedom,” she spat and he smiled easily, beginning to work on his own food.  
  
“I believe that is impossible,” he sighed, chewing languidly, watching her and she scowled.  
  
“You can’t keep me here forever!” Hermione exclaimed and he laughed taking a drink of his wine.  
  
“See now that’s where you’re wrong.” He set his glass down, his eyes boring into hers. “You see, I own you. You are mine.” He paused watching her jaw clench, letting his words sink in, “To do with as I please,” he added, taking another sip of wine.  
  
“They’ll come for me,” Hermione found herself saying, a hysterical edge to her voice. “They’ll-”  
  
“And who are ‘they?’” Malfoy scoffed, and Hermione snapped her mouth shut, grinding her teeth, fighting back tears.  
  
“Surely…” she paused, trying to gain composure. “Surely some of them are still…”  
  
“Alive?” Malfoy finished for her, laughter in his voice. “You can’t really believe that can you?”  
  
“Why me?” she asked suddenly and he stopped, his glass halfway to his lips. “Why not any of the others? Ginny... she’s carrying Harry’s child. Neville…he killed Nagini. Luna-”  
  
“Stop!” Malfoy said forcefully, setting his glass down a little harder than he intended. He sighed. “I would think it was obvious. We were…” His tongue snakes out to wet his bottom lip, “…intimate once.”  
  
“Yes,” Hermione gritted out, forcing the bile from her throat, “Before you turned traitor and sent us to the slaughter.”  
  
And it was then that Malfoy visibly faltered, falling against the back of his chair, flinching as if her words pained him physically. A semblance of something flickered in his silver eyes but it was gone before Hermione had a chance to analyze it.  
  
“We all made our choices, Granger,” was his reply, draining the rest of his glass and pouring himself another.  
  
“We took you in-”  
  
“You most certainly did,” he cut her off, smirking at her. They were playing a game of emotional Chicken now. She flinched but continued on.  
  
“We protected you and you repaid us by sending us to our deaths,” she continued, searching for the nerve that she had hit just moments before.   
  
“Our? You seem very much alive to me, Miss Granger,” he stated, and she swallowed hard. “It must be very hard for you. Being the only member of Dumbledore’s Army not in the ground.”  
  
“And it must be very easy for you, being Voldemort’s right-hand man” Hermione gritted, blind with tears. “Tell me, was it your betrayal of the Order or Snape’s execution that brought you into his good graces?”  
  
“I would imagine it was the disposal of Weasley that did the trick.”   
  
He grinned at her from over the mouth of his wine glass, watching her mouth fall open and a single tear slide down her cheek. Hermione’s brain seemed to be stalled, her entire body shaking, stuck in a memory of running next to him, nothing but a flash of red hair in the corner of her eye – one minute there, the next gone.  
  
“You…”  
  
“When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours, Granger?” he asked, his silver eyes shining in the candle light. “You can’t hurt me nearly as bad as I can hurt you.”  
  
“Oh I can hurt you,” Hermione snarled, her almond eyes blazing, fists clenching on the table.  
  
He laughed openly at this. “Not without your wand you can’t.”  
  
“Is this why you wanted me here?” she asked, her voice shaking with rage and tears. “To play more of your sick mind games?”  
  
“Actually no, but it has proved entertaining,” he smirked. “I requested your presence tonight, to inform you that I’m having some friends over for drinks tomorrow.”  
  
“Friends?” Hermione questioned with a laugh. “You mean accomplices. Death Eaters?”  
  
“They fought for our cause, yes.”  
  
“Not my cause,” Hermione spat and Draco gave her a condescending smile.  
  
“You will stay on the second floor, away from the landing and the staircase,” he said and then looking at her pointedly. “Out of sight.”  
  
“And if I don’t?” she asked, eyes cold, challenging.  
  
“Oh love, you don’t want to know what would happen to you if they saw you.”  
  



	5. Death Eaters Downstairs

Hermione Granger sat in the grand library of Malfoy Manor, a book lying open across her lap and a cup of tea at her side. She hadn’t read a word in the past hour and her tea had long since grown cold. She had been standing at the window when the carriages started to arrive several hours ago, watching as known murders, rapists, and thieves filed into the entryway. Seeing them all – some she’d known from Hogwarts, most she’d known from the things that they had done to her and her friends – she was once again reminded of exactly where she was and who she was with. It seemed that some days she would fall into a dreamy forgetfulness, thinking herself just somewhere, and not in the home of her most hated enemy.   
  
Rage, which was always so close to the surface these days, rose in her like a tidal wave but a healthy dose of fear kept her upstairs, the memory of Malfoy’s eyes when he said _you don’t want to know what would happen to you if they saw you_ haunting her still.   
  
She could hear them all downstairs, carrying on, passing the definition of simple inebriation hours ago. The progression of the evening saw the passing of her fear and she was now to the point where she felt that her previous concerns were absurd. Malfoy was just trying to keep her under his control; it was just another move in his sick mind game.  
  
Slamming her book shut, Hermione unfolded herself from the oversized armchair and padded across the parquet floor, her bare feet smacking the tile loudly. She strode confidently down the hall, the oak trees creating long shadows on the bare walls. She slowed as she reached the landing overlooking the dark entry hall.   
  
She could hear them all banging around in the drawing room, see their shadows dancing out across the light spilling from the room. Hermione took a cautious step toward the banister, placing her hands on the railing and leaning far forward, trying to see into the room as best she could.   
  
“What is you doing Mistress?!”   
  
The distressed, shrill cry of Sawney nearly sent Hermione tumbling over the baluster. The laughter in the other room softened and Hermione stepped back as Adrian Pucey and Christian Warrington came to the doorway of the drawing room.  
  
“You is not to be here! Master Draco said!” Sawney continued, shaking her small hand at Hermione who was now flat against the wall, her breathing shallow.  
  
“What is that elf going on about?” the slow, booming voice of Warrington echoed.  
  
The little elf gave a small “eep” and, with a snap of her fingers, vanished. Hermione could hear the two men walking across the hall, heading toward the staircase. She swallowed hard and took a step forward into the light, chin high, shoulders back. She refused to be afraid.   
  
“Well would you look at this!” Pucey exclaimed, his face growing into a hideous caricature of a smile. “It’s Potter’s Mudblood!”  
  
The sound of shuffling feet came from the drawing room and suddenly there were three more men in the entry hall. She recognized all of them from Hogwarts; Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle standing dumbly side by side as always, and Blaise Zabini, leaning indifferently in the doorway. They all stared at her for a moment before bursting into wails of laughter.  
  
“I’d hear rumors,” Warrington’s voice came from very close and it was then that Hermione realized that he and Pucey were almost up to the landing. “that Draco had acquired her, but the stupid git has been denying it all along!”  
  
“You…you stay away from me,” Hermione cautioned, holding out a hand, warding them off.  
  
“Or what?” Pucey questioned, both men advancing on her slowly.  
  
“Malfoy-”  
  
“-flooed out to get more firewhiskey,” the bored drawl of Zabini finished for her.  
  
Her eyes widened and panic swept through her. Pucey and Warrington were closing the distance between themselves and her and before she had a chance to turn and run they had her by the arms, dragging her down the stairs, knocking her ankles and toes against every step. She struggled, grunting in her effort to get away from them.  
  
“What’s the matter Mudblood, don’t you want to play?”  
  
“Let’s see if she’s wearing any knickers,” Goyle snarled and Hermione kicked out as hard as she could, making contact with Warrington’s kneecap, sending him to the floor.  
  
It was enough of a disturbance to get them to release her and she fled for the stairs. A hand clamped around her ankle and she fell, her chin crashing into the bottom step, the taste of copper bitter in her mouth as stars exploded behind her eyes. She screamed in a feeble attempt at calling for help, the laughter of the men echoing louder than ever.   
  
She could feel her body being pulled across the marble floor, see the trail of blood as she was drug backwards by her ankles. She was turned over roughly and reaching out she scratched Warrington across the face, skin gathering under her nails. He slapped her hard across the face, splitting her lip wide open, cheers echoing off the high walls as he gathered both her wrists in one of his own large hands, his other trying to force her legs open. She struggled against him violently, trying to kick at him, at any of them.  
  
“Now about those knickers…” Warrington trailed, tugging at the material of her pajama pants, fingers sliding against the skin of her thighs as they were exposed.   
  
Just as his thumb hooked in the waistband of her underwear he was suddenly ripped away and Hermione opened her eyes to find Draco Malfoy smashing a bottle of firewhiskey across Warrington’s face. The man howled in pain, clutching his bleeding cheek and the others backed away as Malfoy brandished the broken bottleneck.   
  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Christian?” Malfoy’s voice was soft, sending a chill down Hermione’s spine.  
  
“Bloody hell Draco I was only messing around!” Warrington spat, blood pouring from the lacerations on his face.  
  
“I bring you into the favor of the Dark Lord. I welcome you into my home and this is how you repay me?”   
  
Malfoy’s voice was still low and impossibly cold, standing tall and lean, his hair falling in his eyes. Hermione was reminded instantly of Lucius but even the elder Malfoy never sounded this menacing. Warrington was beginning to realize the error of his actions, forgetting about his broken face, and staring apprehensively at Malfoy.  
  
“You spit on my generosity by seeking to harm…” Malfoy paused, glancing down at Hermione’s crumpled and bleeding form. He pursed his lips. “my property.”  
  
“Draco no harm was done to her,” Blaise sighed, and then looking at Hermione he added. “Well, nothing a few healing charms can’t fix.”  
  
“Besides, why didn’t you tell us Draco?” Crabbee asked. “You’ve been denying it for ages.”  
  
“I don’t have to tell you goons everything!” Malfoy spat insolently and in that instant Hermione could see the boy he used to be, defensive and petulant. “Get the fuck out of my house.”  
  
Crabbe and Goyle lurched reluctantly towards the fireplace in the drawing room, years of following Malfoy’s orders not requiring them to be told twice. Warrington, now coming back to himself somewhat, stepped angrily to the tall, blond man. Malfoy looked down his nose at him, eyes like ice.  
  
“Maybe you want her all to yourself,” Warrington hissed. “The great Draco Malfoy, Voldemort’s most trusted servant is pussy-whipped by a filthy Mudblood.”  
  
Malfoy’s movement was so swift that in the dark hall it almost looked as if Warrington had apparated from standing directly in front of Malfoy to lying in a crumpled heap in the doorway of the drawing room. Zabini had to jump out of the way, lest he be knocked over by Warrington’s oafish form.  
  
Malfoy was advancing on him, drawing his wand from the inside pocket of his robes, eyes blazing.  
  
“Crucio!” Malfoy yelled and Warrington began to writhe on the floor, screaming.  
  
“Draco!” Pucey exclaimed, striding forward to grab Malfoy’s arm, but he was shaken off. “What are you doing!”  
  
With a flick of his wand, the curse was alleviated and Warrington was a sobbing, bloody heap on the drawing room carpet. Malfoy tossed his head back, shaking the hair from his eyes, breathing heavily, and raised his wand again.  
  
“No! Please no!” Warrington sobbed, holding out his hand in a weak defense. “I’m sorry. Please, no more!”  
  
Malfoy stood stock still, poised to attack, for several moments before lowering his wand.   
  
“You will leave my house now or I will make you curse the day your mother brought you into this world,” Malfoy said, so lowly it was barely even spoken. “All of you. Now.”  
  
Warrington scrambled for the fireplace, Pucey helping him to his feet as they both called out to be sent to Knockturn Alley. Blaise swaggered languidly toward the fireplace, giving Malfoy a small bow before stepping into the fireplace and sending himself home.  
  
Hermione watched as Malfoy let silence descend on the room. She watched his shoulder’s heave and he bowed his head, seemingly gaining composure. Raising his head again he waved his wand, closing the fireplace and turned to face her.  
  
Her heart was racing as he approached her, looking down at her, his pale hair falling into his eyes. His face was a mask, expressionless, as he towered over her. It was then that she did the one thing she’d hoped she would never ever do in front of him. She broke down into painful wracking sobs, her entire body shaking with the force of them.   
  
She sobbed from fear, from pain, from the utter hopelessness that enveloped her, as she wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them to her chest, seemingly trying to hold herself together. Strong arms hooked under her knees and wrapped around her waist, the scent of firewhiskey and thyme invading her senses as he lifted her deftly. Her arms went instinctively around his neck, her face burying in the crook of his shoulder as he carried her up the stairs.   
  
Walking down the hall, her hysteria reached its peak. Her sense of relief sickened her. But she couldn’t deny that she was grateful for his protection of her and his complete domination of her attacker. Shame of that gratitude flooded her and only caused her to sob harder. How could she be grateful to the very man that was responsible for Voldemort’s victory? How could she be thankful, after all he had done to her, to her friends, and to their cause?  
  
Her mind snapped vividly into focus as he set her on soft sheets. It took her a moment to realize that they weren’t hers. Looking around she found the dark room elegant yet masculine, dark mahogany wood, contrasting with the white fabrics of the couches and bed sheets. The sleigh bed was huge, enveloping her in a mass of white silk, making her feel like she was sitting on a cloud. His arms left her and much to her chagrin she whimpered slightly, hugging her knees to her chest, burying her face.  
  
She felt the bed dip slightly and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing it all to just go away. She wished she was at her grandmother’s house in the English countryside, letting the old woman braid her hair on the porch like she did when Hermione was a little girl. She wished she was back at Hogwarts, sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Harry, studying and listening to them talk about Quidditch. Hell, she would even settle for that stupid tent in the middle of nowhere, hungry and irritable. She would have given anything to be with them right now.  
  
“Are you hurt?”  
  
Malfoy’s words jarred her out of her thoughts but she did not raise her head. Her sobbing had quelled, but tears were still sliding silently down her cheeks, her breathing ragged.   
  
“Hermione,” he said, her name stuttering a little on his lips, his voice low and soft. “Are you hurt?”  
  
She felt his hand slide under her hair to clasp the back of her neck. His fingers delved into the hair at the base of her skull, wrapping in it and tugging gently, pulling her head up. She kept her eyes closed until his nails scraped against her scalp softly. Taking a shaky breath she opened her eyes and found him studying her face imploringly, his silver eyes shining through the darkness. She gave a small shake of her head and watched him release the breath she hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.   
  
Using his free hand he pulled his wand back out of his robes and tilted her head back, whispering “Resarcio” and she felt the jagged tear in her lip knit itself, tingling from the magic. Pocketing his wand again he brushed his fingers across the bruise blooming across her cheek. His hands were cold but his touch was warm and she gasped bringing her hand to her face, pressing on the skin and feeling no pain.   
  
“How did you-?”  
  
He shook his head at her, cutting her off. She’d never seen anyone heal without a wand before and even in her frenzied state her curiosity was peaked. She’d seen him use striking bouts of wandless magic since her arrival at Malfoy Manor but bitterness refused to let her be impressed, but right now sitting on his bed, all her defenses down, she marveled at his skill.  
  
He reached out his hand to cup her cheek again and she felt a calming influence. For a moment she thought it was some kind of spell but she soon realized that it wasn’t magic that quelled the storm inside her, but his tenderness. His eyes were roving over her face, concern knitting his brows, his silver orbs showing a softness that she hadn’t seen from him since before he betrayed them all.  
  
Then as if coming back to himself, he pulled back suddenly as though he’d been burned and situated his face into a sneer, his mask back firmly in place. He rose from the bed, standing tall, looking down his nose at her. He cleared his throat.  
  
“I specifically told you to stay out of sight,” he drawled coldly, all tenderness gone.  
  
Rage boiled in her. “You can’t be serious!”  
  
“They would have never known you were here. I told you it was dangerous-”  
  
“And yet you left me alone here with them! Why were they here anyway? If you were so desperate to keep me some big secret then why have them over at all?”  
  
His face tightened. “That is none of your business, Granger. I don’t answer to anyone and I’m sure as hell not going to start with you.”  
  



	6. In the Den of the Dragon

The library was quiet and still, warm but not stuffy; the perfect place to pass a leisurely afternoon of reading. But Hermione Granger found herself unable to concentrate. It may have been the fact that she had read that particular book before. In fact she had read most of the books in the Great Library of Malfoy Manor in the three months she had been there. It hadn’t taken her long really, most of the shelves holding only a few books, and a line of dust indicating that others were once housed there.  
  
This was something she had come to notice about the manor in her internment there; that while the place was large and luxurious over all, it was also strangely bare in places, portraits missing, books gone from the shelves, closets empty. In fact there were rooms that held nothing at all, except faded lines in the wallpaper. Hermione filed this observation away in her brain, stocking it with the horde of other ascertainments she had made over past several months. It was a method of survival she had developed. Being stripped of everything she was and being forced to live in a place where everything she ever believed in or cared about was overruled and scoffed at, she went back to the basics of her personality.  
  
She loved knowledge, loved the seeking of it. Facts were comforting to her and somewhere deep down in her, a small part of her very much believed that she could learn her way out of her current situation. Although if she were truly honest with herself, it wasn’t half as bad as it could have been. The altercation with Warrington had proved that.  
  
Ever since that incident, her subjugator had kept his distance, leaving the manor for long periods of time. Hermione had only truly laid eyes on the man as he was coming from or going off on one of his long trips. He rarely gave her knowledge of his plans to leave and never, ever said goodbye. His absences piqued her curiosity but more so than that they left her uneasy, for what was to stop anyone from coming in and taking her. Surely everyone must know she was there by now. The hungry looks on Crabbe and Goyle’s faces had told her that much.   
  
All of these thoughts plagued her as she ran her fingers along the edge of the pages in her book, ruffling them, dispelling their musty scent into the air. Her eyes were scanning the front lawn but not really seeing it, her mind wandering far away from where she was.  
  
Her vision was snapped back into focus when the sight of a carriage coming up the drive, broke the scene. Her stomach tightened as it pulled to a halt in front of the house but she relaxed when the white blond head of Draco Malfoy appeared, sidestepping Gadsby, who had trotted out to greet him, and disappeared into the house.  
  
She heard his footsteps down the hall and saw his form in a flash as it glided past the door. Dropping her book on the table, Hermione stood and left the library, padding down the hall to Malfoy’s study.  
  
She had never seen this room, the door always closed and locked when he was away and she had never really sought him out when he was home. She watched him discard his traveling cloak and gloves, tossing them on one of the many overstuffed chairs, sighing as he rounded the desk. He noticed her then, standing in the doorway. His face registered surprise but it quickly melted to feigned annoyance.  
  
“Can I help you, Granger?” he asked, his voice drawling and bored, as he shuffled papers across his desk.  
  
She ignored his question and took it more as an invitation, stepping into the room, looking around. The wall behind his desk was lined completely with books and Hermione longed to scan their spines, open their covers and peruse their pages. The south facing wall was completely open, looking out on the extensive gardens, the scent of lavender and thyme pervading the room. Her eyes fell on glass cases lining the wall opposite the window and gasped when she saw nothing but row after row of wands sitting on tufty pillows, trapped behind the glass.  
  
“Granger?” his voice shattered her observations and she found him not behind his desk but leaning against the front of it, sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“You were gone a long time,” Hermione said, walking slowly along the edge of the glass cases, her eyes memorizing the contents of the shelves.  
  
“Miss me?” he asked, a playful lilt in his voice and she gave him a condescending smile before turning back to the wands. “Don’t touch those.”  
  
“I can’t touch them,” Hermione spat as she advanced further down the wall. “They’re behind…”  
  
Her voice trailed and her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes fell on a familiar wand. She had seen it perhaps a million times in her short life, the willow as familiar to her as her own wand. She had seen it ward off Death Eater’s in the Department of Mysteries, seen it attempt to stupefy her in D.A. meetings. Her throat constricted as she surveyed the worn wood of the handle. She reached out, her finger tips longing, if not to touch it, to brush against the glass that housed it.  
  
Her movement was halted by slender, calloused fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist. Malfoy was standing directly behind her, his body so close she could feel the heat emanating from him.  
  
“I told you don’t touch,” he whispered directly into her ear, his breath fanning her hair.  
  
She ripped her wrist from his grasp and put as much space between them as possible. He was smirking at her as he watched her back away into the center of the room. He turned his back on her, looking down into the case.  
  
“It’s an old wizarding tradition, borne from the days when wizards dueled to the death. The conqueror gets his fallen opponent’s wand.” Malfoy gestured down the wall. “I have many. But I must say, Weasley’s is my favorite.”  
  
Anger boiled in Hermione and she charged forward, her hands reaching for his neck but he spun just as she was about to grab him and wrapped both hands around her wrists, forcing her back into the desk. She struggled hard against him and he laughed openly at her. Blind with rage she did the only thing she could think of. She spit at him.  
  
His laughter stopped abruptly, shock blooming across his features before being replaced by anger. He released one of her wrists, gripping her throat tightly. Her free hand went to his wrist, nails digging in as he cut off her oxygen, pushing her until her back was flat against the desktop, his body pressed intimately against hers.   
  
He was allowing her just enough air not to pass out, but not enough for comfort. He had her other wrist pinned above her head, his mouth mere inches from hers.  
  
“I could take you like this,” he whispered, pressing his body harder into hers and her eyes widened. “I could do it and you wouldn’t be able to do anything.”  
  
“You disgust me,” Hermione snarled and he chuckled softly.  
  
“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” he drawled, his hand leaving her throat and pinning her other arm above her head, nuzzling his nose in her neck.  
  
“We trusted you,” Hermione said weakly, her voice breaking with a repressed sob. “Harry trusted you!”  
  
“Well, that proved to be a bad decision didn’t it?” Draco asked coolly, his lips brushing her pulse point.  
  
“Let me go,” Hermione pleaded, struggling against his hands.  
  
“You didn’t say please,” he drawls, pulling back to smirk at her.  
  
“Fuck you,” she spat and he laughed again.  
  
“Careful what you wish for, love” he said lowly, and let her thrash under him for a moment before releasing his grip on her hands, backing away from her.  
  
Hermione lay against the desk panting, her heart threatening to break free from her ribcage. A part of her knew that Malfoy wouldn’t force her but another part of her thought the former was a bloody idiot. Malfoy was a Death Eater, a killer. Rape was surely not on the list of things he wouldn’t do. She raised herself up slowly, fingers rubbing the tender undersides of her wrists, seeing finger tip shaped bruises already forming. She looked up to find him smirking at her still, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“What do you want with me, Malfoy?” she asked, glaring at him, trying to steady her breathing. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”  
  
“Is that what you want? For me to kill you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side, his white blond hair falling elegantly into his eyes. “To send you to be with Potty and Weasel? To absolve your guilt?”  
  
“Let me go,” Hermione growled, her eyes boring holes into him.  
  
“No,” he replied simply.   
  
“You can’t keep me cooped up here for the rest of my life!” Hermione cried, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.  
  
“Giving you free reign of sixty-five thousand square feet and seventy five acres can hardly be defined as being ‘cooped up,’” he scoffed and Hermione looked away, frustrated. “And where do you propose to go anyway?”  
  
Hermione looked at him again and looked away almost immediately, her mind going blank, seeing nothing beyond the gates of Malfoy Manor.   
  
“You think that if I let you go that you could just walk out that door and back into society? A lot has changed since the end of the war, Granger,” he said, his eyes hard and cold. “Half-bloods are persecuted and Muggleborns are of the same class as house elves. You’re much better off here.”  
  
“I’d like to see for myself,” she said, her head held high, jutting her chin out defiantly.  
  
He stared at her for a long time, surveying her, his mind working and turning. He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth before sighing.  
  
“Any particular destination you had in mind?” he asked and her mind grabbed for a location.  
  
“Diagon Alley,” she stated and his booming laugh startled her.  
  
“Diagon Alley?” he questioned. “Need to pick up some things for school?”  
  
“I wanted to go to Flourish and Blotts,” she replied, defensively. “I’ve read all the books you have in the library. Unless you would like to allow me access to your collection?”  
  
She nodded toward the wall of books and he followed her gaze, an uneasy expression clouding his features.  
  
“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “Flourish and Blotts will be fine.”  
  
Hermione’s jaw fell to the floor as he made his way back around his desk, sitting in his chair. She blinked at him a few times before regaining her powers of speech.  
  
“You... I can go?” she asked, astonished.  
  
“I’ll take you tomorrow,” he replied, glancing at her as he dipped his quill and began to write. “Now get out of here and let me work in peace.”


	7. Diagon Alley

Upon waking the next morning, Hermione Granger was greeted by the sight of very elegant dress robes draped across her vanity chair. As if she were propelled by some unknown force, she rose clumsily from her bed, stumbling to reach for the fabric, trying to focus her sleep ridden eyes. Her hands gathered in the heavy indigo silk, holding it up in the graying light, fingering the pearl buttons, tracing the low dip of the lace-trimmed neckline. As her foggy brain struggled to comprehend its purpose, the memory of the previous night’s encounter flooded her mind.   
  
She was going out! For the first time in weeks she would be leaving the confines of Malfoy Manor and going out into the wizarding world. She longed to see the people and the streets and the shops, breathe the magic in the air.  
  
Sawney and Zilla arrived awhile later with her breakfast and drew her bath as she picked at her food, anticipation stealing her appetite. After she bathed, the small elves helped her into her robes, adjusting the waist and hemline as needed. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot at the base of her neck, curls tumbling over her shoulder. When she stepped in front of the mirror she gasped, reaching forward to brush her fingers over the glass, trying to touch the woman that couldn’t possibly be her reflection.  
  
It was then that the bone crushing guilt surfaced in her throat like bile. Here she was, dressed like a courtier and actually looking forward to being taken out on the town by none other than Draco Malfoy. Anger swelled inside her, the quickness of it shocking her, the intensity burning. Who was he to dress her up like a little porcelain doll? She was not his plaything! She began tearing at the fabric, suddenly feeling suffocated by the heavy material.  
  
“Miss Hermione, no!” Sawney cried, hopping around her knees. “Please, Master Draco was most adamant about you looking your best.”  
  
“Yes, Miss Hermione,” Zilla said begrudgingly. “It’s the finest fashion of Paris.”  
  
“I’m not his doll to be dressed and played with at will,” Hermione snarled, struggling with the buttons that curved from her shoulder, down under her breasts and across her stomach to her hip.  
  
“Please, Miss Hermione!” Sawney exclaimed, tugging at her ears. “Master Draco says it is very important-”  
  
“Oh bugger it all,” Hermione exclaimed loudly, finally giving up on the buttons. “I don’t care what _Master Draco_ thinks or wants.”  
  
“Good to know.”  
  
She turned to see the sleek form of Draco Malfoy leaning in the doorway of the room. He was elegantly dressed in black, as always, smirking at her in that infuriating way of his.   
  
“You look lovely,” he said softly and she scowled at him, reaching up to rip the jeweled comb from her hair. It wouldn’t budge. “I had a feeling you’d dislike your attire once you put it on,” he said, watching her struggle, “so I charmed it not to come off.”  
  
Hermione gasped, watching his smirk emerge into a full on grin.   
  
“You are the most spiteful-”  
  
“-foulest, loathsome creature you have ever laid eye upon. Yes, I get it,” he drawled rolling his eyes. “Do you want to go to Diagon Alley or not?”  
  
Hermione pursed her lips, looking at the jeweled slippers peeking out from under her dress robes. She hated him. Hated him with such a burning passion that she could kill him and never feel the guilt of it.  
  
“That’s a good girl,” he said, taking her silence as submission. “Now if you’d be so kind?”  
  
He held out his arm and she crossed hers over her chest. He rolled his eyes again.  
  
“It’s pretty hard to side-long apparate if you don’t hold on, Granger.”  
  
Her head snapped up. They were apparating? She was going to get to use magic! Well technically she wasn’t using magic but she would be a part of it. In her giddiness she strode forward but shied away when he smirked at her again. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and stepped closer. She scowled and wrapped her arm through his reluctantly.   
  
He guided her down the grand staircase and out the front door. It was cold outside, a bitter November wind biting at Hermione’s bare face and hands as they made their way down the driveway, sun dappling feebly through the yew trees. They were about halfway to the gate when her teeth began to chatter, her fingers numb from the cold. He stopped abruptly, startling her slightly as he pulled his arm from hers. Before she had a chance to process it, his traveling cloak was swung from around his shoulders and draped over hers, the scent of thyme invading her senses. She watched him dumbly as he tied the cords at her neck, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her collarbone as he did so. He finished and stared at her, waiting a beat before offering her his arm again. She took it readily, giving him a nod of her head in thanks.   
  
Her heart was beating rapidly as they stepped out of the gates at the end of the drive. She was outside! She was free! His arm tightened around hers and the thought was chased away, as he spun her, pulling her flush against him, his mouth centimeters from hers. She gasped as the familiar suffocating sensation of apparition overtook her. Her eyes were squeezed shut against the whipping of the wind, but she could still feel his body against hers, feel the magic emanating off him, his power intoxicating.  
  
And suddenly she could breathe again, her feet crashing hard with the pavement, buckling her knees. His hands wrapped around her biceps, keeping her upright, his silver eyes glowing in the darkened doorstep of the Leaky Cauldron. He offered her his arm again and she took it, her legs wobbling as he brought her quickly through the near empty bar and out the back door of the pub. He drew his wand and she watched in anticipation for him to tap the bricks. She was so intent on watching the wall that it startled her when his gloved hand cupped her chin, turning her face to his, forcing their eyes to meet.   
  
“You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not touch anything unless I hand it to you. And,” his fingers tightened around her chin, digging in just enough to cause her to wince, “you will under no circumstances wander off. You will not leave my side. Is that clear?”  
  
His eyes were hard and imploring, his voice holding that same edge as it had when he had warned her all those months ago about staying out of sight. She swallowed hard and he gave her face a little jerk.  
  
“Is that clear?”  
  
“Yes!” she exclaimed, pulling her face from his grasp.  
  
He eyed her warily before reaching out and tapping just the right brick then three up and two across. The wall melted away with quick fluidity and Hermione couldn’t help the grin that was spreading out over her face. She couldn’t wait to see all the witches and wizards, the stores with their colorful signs.  
  
Her face fell almost instantly. The twisting cobbled street was dark somehow, even though it was now nearly midday. Most of the shops she had known from her first few years at Hogwarts were gone, boarded up or replaced by sinister looking establishments. The street was crowded with distinguished looking witches and wizards, but sitting in doorways and against walls was an assortment of ragged, shivering people, begging for gold, insisting that they were wizards, yelling their blood status at every passerby.   
  
“Is it all you imagined?” Malfoy mocked into her ear and she snapped her jaw shut, which she hadn’t even realized had been hanging open. “I told you, Granger. Things have changed. Now, stay close.”  
  
He stepped forward and Hermione followed obediently. The street seemed to hush as they walked through, the crowd parting for them, heated whispers left in their wake. Hermione’s eyes flitted around, eyeing the dark magic shops and seedy looking pubs. When she met the eyes of passersby their faces registered shock and disgust, something that made her stand a little straighter, jut her chin out, and hold her head high.   
  
“Draco!” a feminine voiced exclaimed and Hermione watched as Pansy Parkinson rushed from the depths of the crowd and flung herself at Malfoy.  
  
Hermione could see him visibly stiffen, before giving her a half-hearted pat on the back.   
  
“Draco, I’ve missed you so! You haven’t been to London in _ages_. You really must come by soon! My father was just saying this morning how you never come to call anymore…”  
  
Pansy jabbered on, Malfoy nodding his head politely through her ramblings. Hermione stood silently behind him, becoming uneasy the longer they stood in one place. A group of onlookers had stopped nearby and were pointing and whispering behind their hands.  
  
“Pansy,” Malfoy said finally, raising his voice over her incessant chatter, “it was lovely to see you again and I promise I’ll drop by soon. Sorry to cut this short but I have to get this shopping done.”  
  
“Yes, of course I…” Pansy trailed, as her eyes fell on Hermione. A tiny gasp escaped her throat and she clasped her hand to her mouth. “You!” she exclaimed after a moment, her face turning puggish as she crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
Malfoy looked back, his confused expression melting into a smirk as his eyes fell on Hermione. He held out is hand, which she ignored but stepped forward to stand next to him, giving Pansy a quick, curt smile.  
  
“Pansy, you know Granger,” Malfoy said, placing a hand on the small of her back and Hermione stiffened immediately.  
  
“Yes,” Pansy said, her eyes cold. “So I guess the rumors are true then. Congratulations on your…” Pansy looked Hermione up and down appraisingly, “acquisition.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes blazed, and she was about to open her mouth to retort but Malfoy was quicker.  
  
“Thank you,” he replied, his fingers digging into Hermione’s back, reminding her to stay silent. “If you don’t mind, we’re just off to the bookstore.”  
  
“Love your robes, Hermione,” Pansy said as Hermione brushed past her. “You are very lucky that Draco favors you so. Mudbloods don’t often get such nice things.”  
  
Malfoy’s hand snatched Pansy by the wrist and she yelped as he pulled her to him, leaning to whisper in her ear.   
  
“Play nice, Parkinson,” he snarled, his eyes like cold steel and Pansy swallowed hard. “Good to see you again,” he added, releasing her and turning resolutely away, striding back into the crowd.  
  
Hermione trailed close behind him, noticing that they had picked up a few stragglers, mostly young wizards, trying to catch a glimpse of the last remaining member of the Golden Trio and Draco Malfoy’s toy.   
  
She let out a sigh of relief when the worn, battered sign proclaiming Flourish and Blotts came into view and felt a pang of excitement as they approached the door. The shop was dark and quiet, the moldy smell of books lifting Hermione’s heart in a way that she didn’t even know it could be lifted. She strode forward to one of the tables, reaching for the nearest book. Malfoy’s fingers wrapped around her wrist just as she was about to wrap her hands around the spine of Magical Theory and held her back.   
  
“What did I tell you?” he said, grabbing the book and handing it to her. “Don’t touch.”  
  
“Oh what does it matter?” she spat, opening the volume and perusing the pages hungrily.   
  
“Well allow me to demonstrate,” Malfoy said and then looking around, he spotted another wizard a few tables away. “You there,” he said, pulling off his gloves and the wizard looked up. “Do you have a Muggleborn with you?”  
  
“Never leave home without him,” the wizard replied with a mirthless grin, his eyes falling on Hermione. “Hey! That’s-”  
  
“Yes,” Malfoy cut him off with a wave of his hand, “Would you be kind enough to demonstrate why Muggleborns shouldn’t just go grabbing things off the shelves,” he finished with a pointed look at Hermione. Then Malfoy pulled out a large gold galleon and held it up to the wizard. “For your trouble.”  
  
The wizard considered him a moment before barking, “Mudblood! Get over here.”  
  
Hermione winced at the harshness of his tone and then gasped as she saw little Dennis Creevey scurry from behind the shelves. He was wearing nothing more than tattered rags hanging off his skeletal frame. He was filthy, his eyes dead. Hermione opened her mouth but Malfoy held up a hand and she scowled but kept her silence.   
  
“Take that book,” the wizard said and a look of apprehension slid over Dennis’ face.   
  
The wizard raised his hand and struck Dennis hard across the side of his head and Hermione made a move to run to him but Malfoy held out his arm, blocking her path.  
  
“Malfoy-”  
  
“Silence,” he hissed at her and she was just about to retort when the wizard raised his hand to Dennis again.  
  
Before the wizard had a chance to bring down the blow, Dennis snatched one of the books off the shelf. His face contorted in agony and he dropped the volume immediately, his fingers bubbling with painful boils and blisters.   
  
“Thanks, mate,” Malfoy said, flicking the coin at the wizard who caught it and bowed his head to the blond wizard before going back to his shopping. “The books are charmed so that only people with half blood status or higher can touch them initially without being cursed,” Malfoy said to Hermione.  
  
“You could have just told me that,” Hermione spat, forcing tears from her eyes as she watched Dennis follow his master, cradling his wounded hands.  
  
“But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see that horrified look on your face that I love so much,” he smirked and it took every ounce of willpower for her not to take Magical Theory and bash him over the head with it. “Now is there anything else you’d like to look at?”  
  
They walked around the store, Hermione pointing, Malfoy handing. She perused the pages eagerly but the joy that she had upon first entering was gone. Malfoy had, as he often did, tainted her moment of happiness with the harshness of reality.   
  
“Are you going to get any of these you keep looking at?” Malfoy asked finally after Hermione had set down yet another volume. She looked at him blankly. “You can have whatever you would like,” he said, picking up the book she had just set down and handing it to her again.  
  
“Really?” she asked, hugging the book to her chest and he blinked at her, the nod of his head almost imperceptible, a small almost unnoticeable smile gracing his lips.  
  
Her spirits substantially lifted, she went back through and had him hand her all the books she had looked through, plus a few more. She was struggling to point to a particularly interesting looking volume when Malfoy sighed and flicked his wand, the weight immediately alleviated from her aching arms. By the time she was finished there were three tall stacks of books floating behind the both of them. The shop clerk, a small, harassed looking man, regarded her curiously as she stepped to the counter. Malfoy pushed past her and pulled out a heavy coin purse, waiting as the clerk tallied up their total.  
  
“Sixty-Eight Galleons, ten Sickles and five Knuts,” the store clerk said clearing his throat, still eyeing Hermione as Malfoy counted out the money.  
  
“Would you be so kind as to have these sent to my home,” Malfoy said, finally causing the clerk to look at him.  
  
“Yes of course, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
They turned to leave, making their way back into the crowded street. They meandered back to the Leaky Cauldron, going back through the gateway. Walking back into the pub, Hermione was just about to take Malfoy’s arm, fully prepared to apparate, when a slow, booming voice called out to him, sending a cold chill down her spine.   
  
“Warrington,” Malfoy drawled, turning to see the man sliding off a barstool.  
  
Hermione’s entire body tensed as he advanced toward them, her hand, as if on instinct, gripping Malfoy’s sleeve. He jumped at the contact, turning his head slightly towards her. He stepped more firmly in front of her as Warrington came face to face with him.  
  
“See you’ve brought your little treasure out,” Warrington said, eyeing Hermione in a way that caused her to step closer to Malfoy, bowing her head a little behind his shoulder.  
  
“Yes, well, I needed to get some shopping done.”  
  
“Since when do you buy books?” Warrington scoffed and Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
“My, word does travel fast,” Malfoy said dryly, scowling at the barman who dipped his head, scrubbing furiously at the glass in his hand.   
  
“You dress her like she’s pureblood,” Warrington scoffed, nodding over Malfoy’s shoulder and he glanced back as if looking to see who Warrington was talking about.  
  
“I dress her as I wish to see her dressed,” Malfoy replied indifferently, but Hermione could feel the heat emanating off of him, silent anger boiling beneath his cool, polite exterior. Warrington bared his teeth in a caricature of a smile.  
  
“You wish her to be pureblood?” Warrington asked lowly, so that only Malfoy and Hermione could hear. “Pretend all you want, Malfoy. Do what you have to do to stick your dick in her.” Malfoy said nothing just stared down coldly at the other man. “And besides,” Warrington added, his eyes going to Hermione again. “You can put lipstick on a blast-ended skrewt-”  
  
Warrington’s words were cut off suddenly, his face turning purple. He grasped at his throat, clawing at unseen hands that were seemingly strangling him. Malfoy had not moved, and in fact was simply standing there, looking down his nose at the suffocating man.  
  
“You see, what is happening to you now, Warrington,” Malfoy said lowly, menacingly, “is a clever little non-verbal spell that the Dark Lord himself invented, and found it in his immense charity to teach to me.”  
  
Hermione marveled for a moment at this, and then at Malfoy’s power. It was a very difficult thing to do non-verbal spells even when one was concentrating fully on the execution. Malfoy seemed to be completely relaxed, taunting Warrington as his lips began to turn blue.  
  
“I could kill you right here, in this pub, with the barman watching and no one would think anything of it because after all,” Malfoy laughed, mirthlessly, “we’re just chatting.”  
  
Hermione was holding her breath, waiting for what would happen next, the heat of Malfoy’s anger warming her, her eyes locked on Warrington.  
  
“Granger,” Malfoy said over his shoulder, “would you like me to kill him for you?”  
  
It was then that her daze was shattered, her eyes snapping to him. His head was turned slightly toward her but his eyes were still on Warrington, keeping the spell going. She looked at Warrington, mortified. What the hell was she thinking!  
  
“Malfoy,” she replied breathlessly.  
  
“Just say the words,” he said, his voice no louder than a murmur.  
  
There was a long pause, nothing but the sound of choking and her pounding heart in Hermione’s ears.   
  
“Stop.”  
  
The word was practically sobbed, her entire body tight with anguish and fear and hate, the hand clutching Malfoy’s sleeve, wringing the fabric of his robe.   
  
Malfoy blinked and Warrington fell to the floor, gasping and sputtering, tears streaming down his cheeks. Malfoy leaned over the coughing and wheezing wizard, waiting a moment before saying:  
  
“A Mudblood just saved your sorry life, Warrington,” Malfoy taunted. “Put your dick in that and fuck it.” Malfoy straightened before painting his face in concern. “My god, Christian, are you all right?” he exclaimed loudly, reaching a hand out to the fallen wizard. Warrington gritted his teeth and stood on his own. “You really should get to St. Mungos and talk to them about that asthma. Well, good day to you.”  
  
Malfoy turned and nearly ran smack into Hermione who was still staring glassily at Warrington, frozen and shaking. Malfoy called to her softly and her eyes snapped to his, a look of triumph on his face as he offered her his hand. She took it in a daze, his fingers warm, wrapping around hers as he led her out of the pub and into the light of day.  
  



	8. Honey in the Lion

The front door of Malfoy Manor burst open, Hermione Granger flying through the entryway and up the stairs, tears streaming down her face. What the hell was wrong with her? She just stands there and watches while Draco Malfoy nearly kills a man? What kind of monster does that?! What kind of monster is she? What has she become?  
  
Running down the hall to her room she let go of the skirts of her robes just a little too soon and stepped on them, sending herself skidding face first through her doorway. Hard sobs wracked her body as she lay on the floor, fingers delving into the plush carpeting. Her cheek was resting on fabric scented with thyme and she realized that she was still wearing Malfoy’s traveling cloak. Sitting up she ripped the cords apart, flinging the material off of her, the feel of it against her skin making her nauseous. She began clawing at the buttons of her dress, tearing and pulling with all her might.  
  
She didn’t even know who she was any more. She would have just stood there and let Warrington die. If Malfoy hadn’t said anything, if he hadn’t taunted her, she would have just stood there, clutching Malfoy’s arm as he killed her would-be rapist. What happed to her? Three months in the company of a murderer had turned her into a willing accessory. What would Ginny say, Lupin say? What would Dumbledore say? What would Ron and Harry say?  
  
“They would say you have a penchant for survival,” the cool voice of Draco Malfoy drawled from the doorway. “Well actually they wouldn’t say anything because they’re all dead.”  
  
Hermione looked up to find him leaning against the jamb, hands in his pockets, regarding her curiously. She glared at him, still hiccoughing as she reached for the comb in her hair, pulling hard.  
  
“Get it off me!” she sobbed, her throat breaking, fingers ripping at her hair, ignoring the physical pain because the emotional torment was so much worse.  
  
She hadn’t stopped him. Hadn’t planned on stopping him. She gasped horrified as the thought surfaced in her mind. She hadn’t stopped him because she wanted him to kill Warrington. She wanted Warrington to suffer for hurting her, for humiliating her. She hadn’t stopped Malfoy because she wanted Warrington to die. She wanted to watch the light leave Warrington’s eyes as Malfoy, in his immense power, drained the life from him.  
  
“I’d do it for you,” Malfoy said evenly, stepping into the room, swaggering towards her. “Hurt him, hurt them, all the ones that have harmed you.” He kneeled beside her, cupping her chin, his fingers cool against her fevered flesh. “I could make them scream apologies,” He paused, biting his lip, studying her face. “make them wish they’d never called you, Mudblood. Make them wish they’d never touched you.”  
  
“Don’t,” Hermione sobbed, the guilt churning in her stomach.  
  
“No I shouldn’t even say it,” Malfoy said quietly, his thumb stroking her jaw, “because you’d feel,” he smiled, “with your perfect grasp of right and wrong,” his smile fell, “that you were somehow an accomplice.”   
  
She was gasping for air, choking on her sobs as she looked at him, blurry from her tears. She blinked and he came fully into focus, his expression blank but his eyes were not empty, some form of some emotion radiating through them. He let go of her chin and reached into her hair, his hand curling around the jeweled comb and it pulled away easily, her wild curls, tumbling down across her shoulders. She stared at him dumbly, hiccoughing every now and then, as his fingers went to the button on her shoulder.  
  
“I lied before when I said I’d charmed them so they wouldn’t come off,” he said softly, his fingers flicking the button open. “I just charmed them so only I could take them off.”  
  
Her gasp was swallowed by his mouth pressing against hers, hot and fevered, his tongue sliding in. She was perilous to stop him, his fingers slipping each button out of its hole so rapidly it was making her head spin. Before she knew it, the entire bodice of her robes was open, exposing the lace of her flimsy slip. His hands flattened against her collarbone, sliding over her shoulders and slipping the heavy silk down her arms.   
  
She gasped into his mouth when she felt him lift her effortlessly, leaving her robes in a puddle of fabric on the floor. Her arms went instinctively around his neck as he carried her to her bed, laying her back, his body pressing against hers. His mouth slid down the column of her throat, drawing lazy circles with his tongue between dry kisses. She was panting, her mind reeling, her body on fire. She arched against him, fingers threading through his hair as his lips found that spot beneath her ear, tongue flicking against it torturously.   
  
The thin negligee did little to conceal the growing heat of Hermione’s skin as his lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, tongue sliding across her collarbone. Snippets of her life were flashing through her mind as heat flooded her veins. _Oh god…_ The first boy she ever kissed. _Please…_ Opening her Hogwarts letter. _Draco…_ That flash of red hair in the corner of her eye.  
  
Her eyes flew open, and she was snapped back into the moment, back into herself. His hand was slipping up her thigh, brushing up the silk of her slip, his mouth dragging against the valley between her breasts.  
  
“No!” Hermione practically screamed, and she thought she felt him groan against her, nails clutching at her skin.  
  
She pushed at his shoulders and he sat back slowly, looking at her, breathless, lust darkening his eyes to a stormy grey color. She was cold suddenly, without him on top of her, without his body pressed against hers. She was panting, her eyes wide with shock. He smirked at her, leaning forward again to press his lips to hers.  
  
She heard the sound of it before she actually registered what she had done, felt the sting in her palm before really realizing that she had reared back to strike him. His face had jerked to the side from the force of the blow, his hair spraying out in a golden halo around his head.  
  
Her breathing hitched as he slowly turned to face her, his eyes gleaming coldly beneath the pale blonde of his hair. He shook his hair out of his eyes and Hermione tried to push herself further up the bed, further away from him as he snatched out, grabbing her wrists. She yelped as he climbed fully on top of her, settling his body between her legs, pinning her arms next to her head.  
  
“Would you ever say to me ‘Stop?’” he asked, his head dipping, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “’If you loved me you’d stop.’”  
  
She looked up at him and swallowed hard. “Not even with my last breath,” she gritted out and he smirked at her.  
  
“Good girl,” he whispered, running his tongue along her bottom lip before pulling away completely and leaving the room.  
  



	9. Dinner Again

The coming of December brought an unusual chill to Malfoy Manor, snow covering the expansive grounds, freezing the pond on the north side of the property. Hermione Granger shivered, stepping out of the bath, wrapping herself quickly in her fluffy terrycloth robe. Her teeth chattered as she sat at the vanity, fingers numb as she reached for her comb to run it through her tangled hair. The comb stuck in her matted curls, her frozen fingers not nimble enough hang on to the silver handle.  
  
She sighed irritably, slamming the comb down, staring moodily into the fire. She longed to just be warm, the way she was when she was in the common room in Gryffindor Tower just sitting with Ron and Harry, the way she had been before she had pushed Draco Malfoy’s body away from hers. She scowled.  
  
It had been nearly a month and a half since he had taken her to Diagon Alley and they had nearly… she shook her head, refusing to think about it. He had, thankfully, gone off on one of his long trips the very next day without a word and hadn’t been back since. It was somewhat of a relief, knowing he wasn’t going to sneak up behind her and taunt her mercilessly about her “weakness for him.” She scoffed.  
  
She didn’t know why she was getting so worked up over it. She had been distraught, and her defenses were down. She wasn’t responsible for her actions. And it’s not like she’d never had sex with Malfoy before. She cringed.  
  
He had been working for the Order then, slipping them vital information about Voldemort’s whereabouts and she was researching non stop, just trying to get a little bit of an advantage. It was about three in the morning when he had come stumbling into headquarters, back from his mission. Everyone had been in bed and they had talked; about the war, about family and school, and what life used to be like. When he had lifted her up on that table, she had been so numb and desperate to feel anything that she hadn’t cared who he was, or who he had been before. She had just wanted him to make her feel alive.  
  
And boy did he ever... After they had redressed and he left the room they had never mentioned it again. She and Ron finally got together and she just never told him, even though every time they were in bed, even if it was just for a split second, she would think of Malfoy, and the way he had felt, pressing her into that table, pressing into _her_. After he had betrayed them, she had pushed the encounter from her mind and never thought of it again.  
  
Until a month ago. Until he pulled her out of her dress, laid her on her bed and kissed her senseless. She had moaned his name for Christ sake! She squeezed the bridge of her nose in frustration. Ever since then, sex with Malfoy had always been in the back of her mind. The way his fingers felt skimming up her thighs, the way his lips felt pressed against the valley between her breasts, his body pressed so warmly against hers. She shivered, whether it was from the cold or the memory she wasn’t sure.  
  
She pursed her lips, snatching up her comb. Ripping it through her hair, she turned back to the mirror. She let out a little gasp, when she saw him standing in her doorway, traveling cloak still wrapped around his shoulders, dotted with snow. She swallowed hard, her eyes trained on his in the mirror, as she set the comb down slowly.  
  
“You’re back,” she stated, and internally winced. She’d said it as if it wasn’t obvious. She waited for the snarky comeback.  
  
“Indeed I am,” was his reply. “I was hoping you would do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening?”  
  
Well, that was certainly unexpected. She turned away from the mirror to fully face him, her face painted in confusion. His features were blank, giving her no indication of what he was thinking. She narrowed her eyes, imagining that this could be some sort of trick.  
  
“The last time we had dinner all you wanted to do was give me orders. Well, why don’t you just give them here and save me the displeasure of your company,” she spat, spinning back to face the mirror, ripping the comb through her hair again.  
  
“Jesus Christ Granger!” he spat, face twisting into a scowl. “I just didn’t want you to have to eat alone on Christmas Eve.”  
  
The comb slipped from her fingers again as she gasped, her eyes finding his in the mirror. Christmas Eve! But it couldn’t be! Had she really been there that long? He was leaning in the doorway now, hands stuffed in his pockets, one eyebrow raised at her.  
  
“I…I…” she stutters.  
  
“What kind of person forgets Christmas?” he scoffed, an amused smirk playing across his lips. “You’re like that one bloke from the Muggle story. The one that says ‘Bah Hamburger’ all the time.”  
  
It was then that Hermione did something she never thought she would do ever again. She laughed. She laughed so hard she could barely breathe, folding her arms on the vanity and laying her head on them. When she looked up again, he was still standing in the doorway, scowling at her in a way that reminded her of him when he was eleven years old, so angry and haughty and egotistical.  
  
“Its ‘Bah Humbug’ Malfoy,” she said her voice still shaking with laughter. “And maybe if I had some kind of calendar I’d be able to keep track.”  
  
“You aren’t supposed to give prisoners calendars. It just gives them hope,” he replied curtly and the smile died away from her face. “If you want to have dinner with me then be downstairs in twenty minutes.”  
  
And with a flourish of his cloak he was gone from her sight.  
  
A few moments later Sawney came in, carrying one of the most elegant dress robes, Hermione had ever seen. Dark green satin with deep red brocading and silver buttons down the front, gold along the low neckline. It took the house elf nearly fifteen minutes to convince her that Malfoy had not cursed the robes as he had done before. Still, once Hermione was completely dressed, she loosed the top button from its hole, just in case.   
  
Making her way down the grand staircase, she wondered what his motive was. She wondered where he’d been and if he’d be leaving again. She wondered if he’d been thinking about her like she’d been thinking of him. She walked slowly down the hall, sticking close to the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before entering the room. His back was to her, gazing out the large picture window overlooking the gardens, which were now just large mounds of snow and bare branches, just silhouettes in the dark. He was dressed simply in a white shirt and grey trousers, shock blonde hair barely touching his collar. She leaned in a little more and a board creaked, unceremoniously announcing her arrival.  
  
He turned suddenly, and his face went from blank to something else, something warm, when he laid eyes on her. He slipped his hands into his pockets and gave her a nod of acknowledgement as she stepped into the room.   
  
“You look stunning,” he said thickly, stepping around the end of the table to pull her chair out for her, the same chair she had so unwillingly occupied months ago.  
  
“Thank you,” she responded simply, taking her seat, shivering when he rested his hands on her shoulders momentarily before taking his own seat.  
  
They were silent then, both staring at their empty plates. Hermione’s mouth was horribly dry, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. Why was she feeling this way? It was just dinner with Malfoy. She’d done it before. But she couldn’t help feeling that some how now was different. Something had changed while he was away. Something in her. She was contemplating this fact so intently that when food appeared on her plate she gasped slightly in shock.  
  
“Not what you expected?” he asked, and she looked up to find his hands holding his knife and fork, poised to cut into his piece of turkey.  
  
“No,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just…it’s nothing.”  
  
She picked up her fork and began eating. The silence in the room was thick, and she wondered briefly why he wasn’t taunting her. She shoved the thought away quickly, worried that maybe he would know she was thinking it and start in on her. But she knew he wasn’t in her mind tonight. For some reason she could just tell. Something very strange was happening indeed.  
  
“How was your trip?” she asked suddenly, and he stopped with his wine glass halfway to his lips, looking at her bewildered.  
  
“Fine, thank you,” he replied, eyeing her before taking a drink.  
  
“Was it…” she paused searching for something to say, “enjoyable?”  
  
He nearly choked on his wine. Coughing, he responded, “Not exactly.”  
  
“Business?” she pushed and he set his glass down, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.  
  
“Yes,” he said, picking up his fork again.  
  
“Where did you go?” she asked, and jumped when he slammed his fork down.  
  
“Dammit Granger, what is this, twenty bloody questions?” His cheeks were pink. He was flustered.  
  
“Well I don’t know,” she responded defensively. “You’re always running off. How am I supposed to know its some big bloody secret?”  
  
“Just…” he stopped, sighing exasperatedly, “don’t ask questions, alright?”  
  
“Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?” she deadpanned and he looked at her and blinked. “It was a joke, Malfoy. Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, remember?”  
  
What the hell was she saying? Was she actually _joking_ with him? What had gotten into her? No she couldn’t be joking with him. She didn’t joke.  
  
“Are you flirting with me, Granger?” he asked, a slow smile creeping over his handsome face and she grimaced.  
  
“Of course not,” she said quickly, her face growing hot. No she was definitely not joking with him. She mentally kicked herself.  
  
“Really?” he asked, leaning his forearms against the table and gesturing with his hand. “Because it seemed like you were maybe getting a little flirty.”  
  
“Shut up, Malfoy,” she scowled, snatching up her wineglass and drinking deeply.  
  
And for once he obliged, tucking back into his food, a small smile playing across his lips. Yes, something was most definitely different between them. She snuck glances of him out of the corner of her eye, watching the way his mouth moved when he chewed, the way his hair fell elegantly into his eyes and how with a simple shake of his head it would sweep gracefully back. The way his long, slender fingers wrapped around his silverware.  
  
 _He’s beautiful._  
  
She nearly gasped at the thought. And it was then that cold realization came crashing down on her. She felt something for him…something other than disgust and revulsion. Something other than anger and hatred. She felt…she didn’t know.   
  
The five and a half months she had spent at Malfoy Manor flashed like slides through her mind. Her first night there, confused and angry, hating him so deeply. Her first dinner with him, the way he had taunted her until she was in tears, until she hated herself for letting him break her. When he had saved her from Warrington, the way he had swept her up in his arms, holding her close to him, letting her know she was safe. The fight they’d had in his study, his words so cold and callus, his body so warm and solid over hers. Their trip to Diagon Alley, how he had put Pansy in her place, how after he had shown her how cruel this new society could be, gave her anything she wanted. How he had stood in front of her in the Leaky Cauldron, protecting her from Warrington yet again, her hand clutching his sleeve, hiding behind him like a scared child. And his words to her when she was sobbing on the floor, how they had sickened and excited her, how she knew even though all she’d ever known him to be was a liar she knew his words were true. The way he had slipped her so effortlessly out of her dress, the way he had kissed her so earnestly.  
  
All these thoughts were crashing around so violently in her brain she was almost in pain from it all. These memories mixing with thoughts of the war, disgust at his betrayal, anger at all the death he had caused. And then as if her thoughts had been a hurricane and it had moved as such that her mind was now in the quiet eye of the storm, one single thought rose to the surface.  
  
 _I think I love him._  
  
And as quickly as the quiet had come it was blown away by the horrible racket of condemnation, revulsion, and guilt. Ron’s face floated into her mind’s eye, grinning sheepishly, blue eyes shining lovingly back at her. _That_ was love. This, whatever it was with Malfoy, was not love. She could never love…  
  
“A monster.” His voice was low, and it shocked her so deeply she gave a small yelp.  
  
He was looking at her, his steel colored eyes impossibly cold. She hadn’t even realized he had been in her head. She was so wrapped up in her emotions she had failed to notice it. She simply stared at him, sitting stone still, hands flat on either side of his half empty plate.  
  
“You think that under any circumstances I would ever love _you_?” he asked and she gasped a little at this, his voice impossibly cold and menacing. “You think that I, the Dark Lord’s most trusted servant, would ever feel anything but revulsion towards you?”  
  
“I-”  
  
“And comparing me to Weasley!” he cut her off, laughing mirthlessly. “A brainless oaf who was too stupid to even _run_. He wasn’t hit with a curse, Granger, he bloody tripped!” Malfoy threw his head back with a laugh. “He fucking tripped and got himself-”  
  
“Stop,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm.  
  
“tortured-”  
  
“Stop.” Her voice shook.  
  
“and killed.”  
  
“STOP!” she sobbed, slamming her fist down hard on the table, squeezing her eyes shut.  
  
“He cried like a little girl when I crucio-ed him,” Malfoy said lowly, and Hermione clenched her jaw, jutting her chin out as she looked him dead on. “He sobbed like a bitch.”  
  
“What and you think this makes you some big, strong man?” Hermione asked, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You think that by torturing him, taking his life, that this makes you somehow superior to him? What made Ron a man was the way he loved. How brave he was, how strong he was, not physically but emotionally. How he took on Harry’s cross as well as mine. Killing him didn’t make you superior, Malfoy, or more of a man. It just made you a killer.”  
  
His face was blank, eyes cold and she wondered how she had ever seen light in them. How she had ever held any emotion except hatred in her heart towards him.   
  
“You say you could never love me, Malfoy?” she said, pushing herself back from the table and standing. “I say you can never love anyone.”  
  
And with that she gathered her skirts and left the room.  
  



	10. The Hidden Grave

“Get up!”  
  
The words were spat harshly as the blankets were ripped unceremoniously from Hermione Granger’s sleeping form. She looked up blearily at the hazy form of Draco Malfoy, silhouetted against the light shining from the hall. She sat up on her elbows, rubbing her face dazedly.  
  
“Malfoy, what are you doing?” she groaned, glancing over at the clock. “Ugh its 5:30 in the morning.” She flopped on her stomach and buried her face in the pillow, huffing in annoyance.  
  
“I said get up now!” he snarled, grabbing her by the arm and she yelped as he dragged her off the bed, her body colliding with the floor.  
  
“What is your problem?!” she growled, rubbing her face again, blinking up at him sleepily.  
  
It took her a moment for her eyes to focus on him completely. He was disheveled and haggard looking, deep circles under his eyes. He was still wearing the same white shirt and grey trousers he had worn at dinner, except his clothes were horribly wrinkled now, one tail of his shirt hanging out, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled unevenly up his arms.  
  
“Put these on.” He threw a pair of boots and a heavy cloak on the floor next to her.  
  
“Why?” she asked, but grabbed one of the boots and began pulling it on her foot. It was much too big.  
  
“Because I’m taking you somewhere,” he states, watching her with arms folded across his chest as she tugged on the other boot.  
  
“Where?” she questioned, standing on sleep heavy legs, struggling to wrap the cloak around her shoulders, closing it over her pajamas, ignoring the scent of thyme that engulfed her.  
  
“Just follow me,” he said gruffly, walking towards the door.   
  
She just stood there, watching him, confused and disoriented. He turned back when he didn’t feel her behind him and giving an exasperated sigh, strode over to her, gripping her arm, fingers digging into the delicate skin of her inner wrist. She yelped as he tugged her roughly behind him.  
  
She questioned him nonstop as he dragged her through the manor and out the front door, marching resolutely toward the tree line on the east side of the property. Hermione tripped after him blindly, clutching the cloak around her tightly, her feet slipping and sliding in the boots, their tracks marring the fresh snowfall.   
  
The sky was barely beginning to lighten as he forged into the trees and she stumbled over fallen branches, her knees sinking into the snow, chilling her to the bone. He grunted as he pulled her to her feet, pressing on, tearing through the undergrowth like a mad man. She continued to question him, struggling against him every once and awhile, threatening to hex him blind if he didn’t let her go. He didn’t even reply snarkily to her empty threat, simply ploughed forward, the trees growing denser the further they walked.  
  
The morning sun was dappling feebly through the thick branches when they reached trees too dense to walk through. They had stopped, standing side by side, his hand still wrapped tightly around her wrist, both just staring at the thick grove of trees.  
  
“Hermione,” he said, his voice soft, shaking a little and she looked at him.  
  
“What?” she asked, her eyes narrowing accusingly.  
  
“That’s the password,” he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead, his face blank.  
  
“Passw-” Hermione cut off her own words as she followed his gaze, seeing the trees uproot themselves and step aside, digging their roots back into the earth as an archway was made by their branches.  
  
He drug her through the archway and Hermione watched horrified as the threes closed in behind them. Suddenly she was being swung forward and losing her balance in his oversized boots she fell to her knees, snow biting into her frozen hands. Looking up she saw a large boulder, sanded down in front to have a flat, shining face.   
  
“Aperio,” Malfoy said lowly, and Hermione watched the rock but nothing happened. “Aperio!” he said, more forcefully this time and when nothing happened still, Hermione looked back at him just in time to hear him mutter, “Oh bugger it all,” as he reached into his pocket, ripping out his wand and pointing it at the smooth face of the rock. “Bloody fucking Aperio!”  
  
The magic caused her hair to ruffle a little as the spell zipped past her and she turned her head to look once more at the rock. She gasped at what she saw, scrambling backwards, feet kicking out, arms pulling her body back until her shoulders collided with Malfoy’s legs. She was panting hard by the time the words “RON BILUS WEASLEY” were etched completely into the stone, “MARCH 3RD, 1980 – JULY 25TH, 1997” directly underneath.  
  
Her tears froze on her face as she looked unwillingly on the stele, her heart thundering in her chest. They had looked for the body, waited for it to be put on display somewhere, a testament to another one of Voldemort’s numerous victories. But it had never showed up. She had given up hope of ever giving Ron a proper burial, burying his memory in her heart instead. Her hands curled over the tops of Malfoy’s shoes, pressing herself hard into his legs, trying to push herself away. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t see this.  
  
“After he was captured,” Malfoy said, his voice soft, “he was stripped of his clothes and beaten.”  
  
“Stop,” Hermione said, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face into his knee, pressing her forehead into his thigh.  
  
“No, you need to hear this, Hermione,” he said, his voice still soft, hand reaching down to touch her shoulder, “you need to know how brave he was.”  
  
Hermione swallowed hard, turning her body to clutch onto his pant leg as he continued. “He never said anything. Never even let out a yelp or a groan, much less anything about your whereabouts. They called him a coward; they called him a traitor, living on while Harry was in the ground. Ron never said a word.”  
  
“Please,” Hermione sobbed, pressing her face harder into his legs. “Please don’t.”  
  
“That’s when they sent me in,” he continued on, fingers gripping her shoulder tighter, “to break him.” She let out a sob. “He finally started screaming after the fourth round of the Cruciatus curse. But he never gave anything up. He never told anyone where you were. He was strong, and brave, and true…till the very end.”  
  
“Why…” Hermione choked, chest heaving with sobs, “why are you telling me this.”  
  
“Because before I killed him he asked me to tell you he loved you. He asked me to take care of you, no matter what happened. He asked me to be sure that none of that ever happened to you. He said I owed him that much. That I owed you all that much.”  
  
He was silent for a moment, letting her cry hard against him, her hands clutching at him, holding onto him for dear life. She could feel his hand, trembling slightly, move from her shoulder to her hair, running his fingers slowly through her tangled mane, nails scratching her scalp soothingly.  
  
“I’m not proud of what I did.” His voice was barely audible, even in the silence of the forest. “I was scared; everything looked so dire. We weren’t finding the Horcruxes. Harry had no clue where to go or what to do and even though you were reading three books a day it was no help. The Dark Lord was still gaining power, more and more everyday. I had thrown away everything I had ever been taught and followed my heart for the first time in my life, and I panicked. I lost faith in Harry. I lost faith in myself. I was scared and I went back. I fell at the Dark Lord’s feet and begged for forgiveness and he granted it to me… as long as I delivered Harry to him.   
  
“After it was done, after Harry was dead and my father was dead and my mother…” he paused, swallowing hard, “I came back to this place, my childhood home, my castle and I ripped it to shreds, burning everything that ever meant anything to my father, hoping to destroy everything he had instilled in me. I remember the smell of it, burning cedar, and paper, and the screams of the portraits as they went up in flames. But as hard as I tried I could not scorch my conscience. Telling Harry to go into that forest was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my entire life, harder than turning away from my father, harder than leaving everything I had ever known. But none of it was harder than pretending I didn’t love you.”  
  
She gasped, her tears stopping from shock. Had she heard him right? She couldn’t have heard him right.  
  
“That’s why Ron asked me to protect you. He knew…” Malfoy let out a small, unbelieving laugh. “I thought I hid it so well but _he_ , the man who you chose to be with, who you loved, knew and he used his last breath to make me swear that I would see that no harm came to you.  
  
“The Death Eaters had been arguing over what to do with the body, some of them wanted to take it apart piece by piece and send them to you one at a time and others just wanted to hang it from the nearest tree for everyone to see. While they were deciding, I snuck in and brought him here. They all still believe to this day that somehow your lot got a hold of it.” He laughed again but it died quickly, his tone sobering with his next thoughts. “I buried him facing west, towards Devon, towards the Burrow…”  
  
With this new wracking sobs broke through her body, shaking as she looked back at the stone bearing Ron’s name, knowing his body was under her, in the earth, safe and whole. For the longest time it was all she had wanted, part of the hope she had forgotten while she was held captive at Malfoy Manor, but now it was as if a peace was settling in her.   
  
“I know…” Malfoy paused, his voice thick with emotion. “I know that forgiveness is too much to ask, and that your love is something I could only dream of. But you must understand that my bringing you here, to the manor, holding you prisoner, was my way of keeping you safe, of keeping you close to me so I could watch over you and make sure that nothing happened to you. Not just because Ron asked me to…” he paused taking a shaky breath, “but because I love you.”  
  
She gasped looking up at him, her soft brown eyes crashing with his silver orbs, finding a depth of emotion there she wasn’t even aware he could possess. He bit his lip and then cupped her cheek, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he ran his thumb along her cheekbone.  
  
“I know you could never love me. I’m a monster, there’s no doubt in that. But I’m hoping that maybe…” he paused looking toward the sky and sighing, “maybe someday I’ll be able to live with the horrible things I’ve done. To be able to look at you, and just let myself love you, just give myself into that emotion and not fight it with sarcasm and meanness. I want to give into it, even if you don’t love me back, because it’s honest and real and good, all things that I want so badly to be, but sadly I am not.”  
  
He was silent then, looking down at her and running his thumb over her bottom lip one last time, he pulled back from her. She shivered from the loss of his warmth, sitting in the snow, looking up at him like a child.   
  
“I’ll let you be alone with him now,” Malfoy said softly, backing his way out, the trees parting for him. “Take all the time you need.”  
  
“Draco,” she said, and watched him stop in his tracks, eyes trained on her.  
  
She didn’t know what to say. Her head was spinning so rapidly out of control, mind working and straining to comprehend all he had said to her. She wanted so much to talk to him, to hear more, but she knew there was no more. He had given her the only gift he possessed that meant anything. He had given her the truth. She swallowed hard before giving him a small smile.  
  
“Happy Christmas.”  
  
He looked back at her bewildered and then smiled softly, giving her an inclination of his head as the trees closed in again.


	11. Redemption Found

Hermione Granger spent the majority of Christmas day sitting in front of the large stone bearing Ron Weasley’s name. Thinking about him, about her, and about them as a couple. Then thinking about Malfoy, and her, and about them as…whatever it was they were.   
  
Sawney had popped in a few times, bringing her tea that warmed her to the core and she was sure there was some kind of warming potion in it but for the life of her she couldn’t remember the name or how it was made. Her brain was, for the first time she could remember, completely empty. There were no useless facts to keep her company, no hexes and jinxes zipping back and forth inside her head battling against each other. She was completely and pleasantly devoid of thought.   
  
There must have been a calming draught in there too.   
  
But each time the cold began to come back so did the roar of her emotions. Ron, Harry, Draco. So many memories. _Ginny, Luna, Draco._ So much history. _Viktor, Ron, Draco._ Every moment of her life. _Mum, Dad, Draco._ All her years at Hogwarts, _Ron, Harry, Draco._ Everyone she had lost. _Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Fred, George, Lupin…_ Every one she still had. _Draco._  
  
It was growing dark, when she finally pulled herself from the snow, her entire body soaked and nearly frozen. She staggered back through the woods, meandering slightly, getting lost and finding her way again, thoughts still roaring in her head. It was completely dark by the time she made it to the tree line, Malfoy Manor a blaze of lights across the lawn.   
  
Stepping through the front door, she was hit with a blast of warm air, something that instead of thawing her, it only caused her to shiver harder. Her fingers pulled the cords of her cloak, letting the wet fabric fall heavily to the floor, her brain buzzing.   
  
_RonHarryDracoGinnyLunaDraco…_  
  
She made her way up the grand staircase, heart hammering, brain whirling as she walked down the hall.   
  
_ViktorRonDracoMumDadDraco_  
  
Her feet took her past the library and past his study, her body on autopilot. She passed her room, heading for the door at the end of the hall.  
  
 _NevilleFredDracoGeorgeLupinDraco_  
  
She pressed her frozen hand to the wood of his door, pushing slightly and it opened with a click, the handle so old the latch merely slid out. She stepped into the room, her eyes roving the walls, drinking in every aspect of it, every aspect of him.   
  
_RonHarryDracoHarryRonDraco_  
  
She didn’t register that the shower was running until it turned off and she turned to find steam billowing from the bathroom door, Draco Malfoy tucking the corner of his towel in at his hip, his broad chest glistening in the dimly lit room.   
  
_RonRonRonRonRonRon_  
  
He caught her eye and stood frozen, his face a mask. She strode forward, boots clomping when they hit the tile floor. Her hands went to his shoulders and he hissed as her frozen fingers touched his flushed skin. She looked up into his eyes and it was as if someone had flipped a switch in her brain, turning off all her thoughts except for one.  
  
 _Draco_  
  
Her mouth crashed into his with such force, he took a step back, his hands going to her upper arms to steady them both. She was frantic, her tongue sliding hotly against his, whining into his mouth as she pressed her body against him, feeling goose bumps rise on his skin from her freezing form. She was so cold and he was so warm and all she wanted was the heat of him against her, _inside her._  
  
He lifted her suddenly and she gasped into his mouth, her boots sliding from her feet, freeing her legs to wrap around his waist as he carried her into his room. His mouth never left hers as he laid her across his bed, unmade and rumpled, soft and inviting. He climbed lithely on top of her, one hand supporting himself while the other grasped her hip, gently lifting her and they scooted themselves up further onto the bed. When she laid her head back, it sunk into the soft down of his pillows and she was suddenly surrounded by the scent of thyme. Her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply, his lips moving across her jaw as a quiet peace settled over her.  
  
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as his hands went to the buttons of her pajama shirt, loosing each button from the hole slowly, warm fingers tickling against her chilly skin teasingly. He pulled back panting as he reached the last button, sitting up to look at her. His eyes traveled down the thin strip of skin he had exposed between the two sides of her top, breathing ragged, pupils dilated. He smoothed his hands up, slipping the fabric apart, revealing her completely to him and she heard his breathing hitch. He paused for a moment before bringing his hands to her breasts, massaging slowly, his eyes trained on his fingers plucking at her nipples. Her eyes closed, head lolling to the side, hips pressing forward into him, the warmth of his hands seeming to spread through her ice cold body.  
  
Her hands delved into his hair, his wet strands sticking to her fingers as he bent down to capture one of her peaks in his mouth, her lips parting in a silent “oh” of pleasure. He shifted as his tongue lavished her, laying completely over her and supporting himself on his elbows as her legs splayed on either side of his hips, allowing him to press against her intimately.   
  
His hands were gliding over her body, skimming down her stomach, long index finger circling her navel as he reached the drawstring of her pajama pants. She gasped as he pulled the tie loose, thumbs hooking in the waistband, tugging her pants and knickers down at the same time. Her hands slid down his back to hold his hips, fingers gathering in the soft terrycloth of his towel, pulling it away easily and tossing it aside. He pushed the fabric down her thighs as far as he could, his mouth dragging to the valley between her breasts and down to her stomach as she impatiently kicked the material off her legs.   
  
She looked down at him, watching as his tongue left a glistening trail down her stomach in his journey down her body. His hands slid up her thighs, spreading them wider for him as he settled between her legs. He brought them gently over his shoulders, hands cupping her ass, pulling her closer to him.   
  
She gasped when she felt his fingers against her most sensitive flesh, opening her up to him. She gripped his shoulders tightly as she felt his tongue flick out against her clit, her back arching. His hands held her firmly in place, as he dipped his tongue into her, nuzzling his nose against her sensitive nub, lapping at the pleasure that rushed from her. She cried out when she felt his fingers press into her, sliding deep inside her, his lips locking around her clit. She was gasping for breath, raising her hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, her body quaking with pleasure. She could feel the wave rising in her and she tried to stop it, not wanting it to be this way…she wanted it to be with him, for them to get there together…she needed them to do this together but the way he was working her so steady and slow, his tongue rolling lazily against her clit she couldn’t take it. She gripped his head, crying out for him to stop, begging him, but his only response was taking his free hand and holding her hips down, allowing him to get his lips more firmly over her clit.   
  
With a tiny graze of his teeth she was thrown unceremoniously over the edge, her back arching off the mattress, hands pressing his face hard into her, as her body clamped around his fingers, still moving steadily in and out of her pulsing core.   
  
She was panting hard as he slid back up her body, brushing her hair out of her face, pressing the backs of his fingers to her cheek as she came down. He began kissing her, soft pecks on the lips, allowing her to catch her breath. She felt him pressing intimately against her, his hips restless against hers.  
  
She gripped the back of his head, smashing his lips to hers, deepening his kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth. He groaned against her lips, the sound startling her slightly and he shifted his hips, the tip of him pressing against her clit. She ripped her mouth from his, panting, feeling him pulse against her. She looked into his eyes, nearly black with lust and she knew he was waiting for her, waiting for her submission, for her acceptance.  
  
Her eyes sank shut as she nuzzled her nose with his, tipping her hips forward so that he was pressing against her entrance and waited. She looked at him when he didn’t move and found him gazing down at her, an indescribable look on his face. She nudged her nose against his again, wiggling her hips a little and he cupped her face with his hand giving her a piercing look.  
  
“ _Draco please,_ ” she breathed finally, her eyes sliding shut and his lips pressed hard against hers as his body penetrated hers finally.  
  
He was inside her in one long thrust, his body buried deep in her slick folds. He ripped his mouth from hers, his breathing labored as he buried his face in her neck, his body trembling. She brought her arms around him, her hands clutching at his back when he pulled back from her slightly, raising himself on his elbows, his face millimeters from hers.  
  
His lips brushed hers, nose nuzzling against her cheek as he withdrew and then letting out a low, quiet moan as he slid back in. He rested his forehead against hers as he continued his steady pace, her body burning around him. She bit her bottom lip, gasping as he pulled almost completely out and then sliding in deep, rolling his hips slowly, keeping his body pressed as close to hers as possible.   
  
He took his time, long fluid strokes in and out of her wet heat, sending shocks of pleasure down to the tips of her toes. She lifted her legs, squeezing his hips with her thighs, allowing him to slide even deeper into her. His moan of approval hummed against her skin, his teeth sinking into her collarbone causing her to cry out.   
  
His pace was speeding and it was then that she began to meet him thrust for thrust, rocking her hips against his, pressing her head back into the pillow as he painted her neck and chest with butterfly kisses. She gasped when she felt him shift, reaching one arm back to skim from her ankle to her calf, pulling her leg around his waist. She mimicked the motion with her other leg, locking her ankles at his lower back, sending him still deeper into her  
  
Her breath was hitching with every thrust and small sounds of pleasure were escaping her lips, eyes shut tight, her mind chasing that feeling that was burning in her. She felt the backs of his fingers press against her cheek and her eyes opened to find him staring down at her, his pupils almost completely dilated, ringed in silver, glowing in the dimness of the room. He held her face in his hands, bringing his lips down on hers, sliding his tongue against hers in rhythm with their bodies. She moaned into his mouth, nails digging half moons into his silken skin.   
  
He broke their kiss panting, a whine of pleasure pulling from his throat as his pace became almost frantic. He rested his forehead against hers again, sliding his forearms beneath her shoulders, holding her intimately against him as her stomach began to tremble, the first preparatory waves of her orgasm washing over her. He moaned loud, feeling her body sucking at him, so close to simply locking down on him.   
  
Her body was tingling and she was so close to the edge she was ravenous, clawing at his back, marring his perfect skin. Her hands slid down to grip his hips, pulling him down harder against her, as her orgasm finally detonated.  
  
She cried out, her body spasming uncontrollably around him and his back arched, thrusting hard into her, her body pulling him deep and stealing his breath. He worked her through her orgasm, listening to her cries of ecstasy as his own release rumbled to the surface. He raised his head, his lips grazing hers as he whispered,   
  
“Hermione, look at me.”  
  
She gasped, opening her eyes, watching him, his mouth agape, so close to the edge. She cupped his face in her hands, and his eye lids fluttered as his hips slammed into hers but he kept his eyes open, an emotion surfacing in them that she hadn’t ever really seen from him.  
  
“Oh god,” he sobbed softly, giving her one more bone crushing thrust before holding steady inside her and she felt him rush into her, sending tiny pin pricks of pleasure up and down her spine.  
  
He collapsed against her then, burying his head into her neck trying to regain some semblance of composure. She listened to him mew softly as the aftershocks of her orgasm clenched his now overly sensitive flesh but he didn’t move, hips still pressed firmly against hers.   
  
She was still panting, trying to fill her lungs with air, trying to form some sort of coherent thought but fatigue was chasing away anything even resembling contemplation. Her fingers were stroking his hips softly, reveling in the feel of his velvety skin as she uncrossed her ankles, letting her trembling legs splay out on either side of him.   
  
He rose on wobbly arms, nuzzling her nose with his, placing soft, dry kisses all over her face until she captured his lips with hers. He was tender, brushing his fingers against her cheek lightly and she gasped when she felt him pull out of her, whimpering a little at the loss.   
  
He held her close to him as he rolled them so he was on his back, her body laying against his chest, her hand fisting over his heart as her eyes slid shut.  
  
She was sure there was a lot that should have been going through her mind at the moment. She knew she should be thinking, working this out, dealing with it but for once she didn’t want to. She simply wanted to lie there, feeling his heart pound steadily against her fist, his fingers combing through her hair. She didn’t need to think about this. She just needed to feel it.  
  



	12. Mistakes Not Made

Hermione Granger was slow in waking, the early morning sun filtering feebly through the thin sheers, light gradually climbing the walls. She allowed her eyes to slide shut again, settling into the warm sheets, hand sliding down the arm, _his arm_ , that was wrapped snugly around her waist.   
  
And this was how she had woken up everyday for the past month and a half, ever since Christmas, since the first time they had made love. She smirked a little at the thought, grateful that he was sleeping and not reading her thoughts because he always scoffed at the term “making love,” finding it honeyed and overly sentimental. But she knew that deep down he thought it too, the small grin that replaced his scowl a little too quickly giving him away.  
  
Life had changed drastically since then. He’d stopped going away for long periods of time, always coming back the same day, even if he was exhausted and haggard, crawling into bed behind her and collapsing, still wearing his clothes. She spent less and less time in the library, preferring to curl up in one of the overstuffed chairs in his study, both sitting in silence as he worked and she read.   
  
They still bickered. They still fought. But it always came back to this bed, _his bed._ No matter who was wronged or who had done the hurting they crawled into this bed at the end of the day and wrapped themselves in each other’s arms, apologies whispered against bare skin.   
  
She always woke before him, her face turned towards the window, the light teasing her eyes open to lay there next to him, his body pressed against her back, his steady breathing ruffling the hair on her neck. She would lay there and think about them and the way they were, marveling at how much he loved her.  
  
And she loved him. She did. She really honestly did, but the guilt was always there. She never allowed herself to feel it when she was with him, fear of his legilimancy skills keeping that part of her mind locked. But in the early morning hours when she was lying awake, waiting for him to squeeze her and let her know he was awake too she sometimes couldn’t help letting her brain mull over all that had happened, allowing her stomach to tighten painfully, tasting the guilt in her throat, bitter and unrelenting.  
  
She had always thought she’d marry Ron, as absurd as that sounded. Back in Hogwarts she had dreamed of it, of being part of the Weasley clan and having little curly redheaded children running all over the yard. Even during the war this dream had sustained her, thinking that if they could just get that victory, if they could just win one more, that maybe…just maybe she might have been given the opportunity to make it a reality.  
  
And now… with Draco…everything was just so different. _He_ was so different. He was quiet and reserved, so unlike Ron’s boisterousness and foot-in-mouth chattering. Draco gave her everything she wanted and more, bringing home little trinkets and books and clothes, just because, saying that he was thinking of her. He was callus and hard at times but true in his feelings for her, a confident and skilled lover. Her body hummed at the thought. He could bring her to climax over and over and over again but sometimes she missed Ron’s awkward fumbling and breaking into giggles with him. With Draco it was all passion and heat and _so very good_ and she wasn’t really complaining, she just missed the way it was…she missed Ron.  
  
She jumped a little when he sighed against her hair, his arm pulling from under hers, not giving her the usual squeeze of affection. She shivered as his body rolled away from hers, and turned over to see him swing his feet over the side of the bed, shaking his hair back.  
  
“Draco?” she questioned, her hand reaching out to touch his back.  
  
“I’m never going to be enough, am I?”  
  
She snatched her hand back as if it had been burned, gasping in shock at his words, his voice soft and defeated.  
  
“Draco,” she said again but he hauled himself off the bed, grabbing his pants and pulling them on. “Draco, stop.”  
  
“I don’t know what else to do, Hermione!” he said, not looking at her, the frustration evident in his voice. “I…I’ve done everything I know how.”  
  
She watched him in shocked silence as he pulled on a shirt and grabbed socks from his dresser, sitting on the end of the bed to put them on. She crawled up behind him, as he pulled them on his feet, feeling the anger emanating from him.  
  
“Don’t be this way,” Hermione whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder.  
  
“What way am I supposed to be?” he growled, pulling away from her, walking to the dresser to put on his watch. There was a pause before he quietly said, “He’s all you ever think about.”  
  
“He is not,” Hermione said. He sighed, turning to look at her.  
  
“I know he is,” he replied giving her a weary look. “You just don’t fucking get it do you? I _know,_ Hermione,” he said laughing at her unbelievingly. “I wake up every morning and he’s there, in your head.”  
  
“Well, maybe if you weren’t poking around in there all the time…” she spat, anger getting the best of her before she took a deep breath. “What do you want from me, Draco?”  
  
“I want you to be with _me_ , only me. For once, just once I want to be with you and only you,” he replied, as evenly as possible but the earnestness of his plea still shone through.  
  
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked, and his face finally broke into a sneer.  
  
“It means just that Hermione! It means I don’t fucking want him in your head!”  
  
“What so I can’t think about him at all?” she asked angrily and he glared at her. “He is-” she stopped, swallowing hard as she corrected herself, “he was so much a part of my life.”  
  
“I think you had it right the first time,” Draco spat, turning to the dresser again.  
  
“So I’m just supposed to forget then?” she asked. “Well I can’t fucking do that, Draco. I can’t just forget him like he was nothing to me.”  
  
“And what about me?” he asked turning to look at her again, his face a mask but his eyes wounded. “Where does that leave me, when you’re remembering him and missing him and wishing he were here?”  
  
She stared at him blankly, not knowing what to say. Not really knowing what he was asking. They never spoke of Ron but Draco was right; he was very much there with them in every aspect of their lives. How could he not be? He was her best friend, her first lover, he _died_ protecting her. How could Draco expect her to forget that, to deny that?  
  
“Silence,” Draco whispered and she snapped out of her daze. “Silence, indicative of nothing. That’s what it leaves me with, Hermione. Nothing.”  
  
His voice was quiet and broken, his face blank and his eyes brimming with hurt and anger. She opened her mouth to respond but he was out of the room before she could get any words out. And that night, for the first time in a month and a half, Hermione Granger slept alone.  
  



	13. Escape from Malfoy Manor

Malfoy Manor was in flames. It took a minute for this fact to sink into Hermione Granger’s brain. Crouched under the desk in his study, listening to footsteps pound down the hall, raucous laughter echoing off the high walls, she waited. Just like he told her to if something like this ever happened, she waited, curled into a ball, her heart pounding so hard in her ears that her vision was vibrating with it.   
  
She heard the door bang open, footsteps coming towards her and she closed her eyes, holding her breath. She wanted him. She wanted him there with her, standing in front of her and protecting her. She needed him there.   
  
The chair was ripped away from the desk and she hugged herself tighter, waiting for one of _them_ to grab her and take her. But she felt nothing, and after a moment she chanced a look, cracking her eyes open just enough and found Draco Malfoy, crouched in front of her, panting, hair tangled, eyes wild.   
  
Bursting into sobs she threw herself at him, his crouching form toppling backwards, his head knocking hard against the bookcase behind him, the first time they’d touched in three days. He held her tight, his face burying in her neck, his sigh of relief stirring her hair.   
  
“Come on,” he said after a moment. “We have to go. We have to leave.”   
  
His voice was unsteady and panicked and it scared her. It scared her to see him scared, his usual cool and unaffected exterior no where in sight. He stepped to the wall of glass cases, bringing his elbow down hard on the top, the glass shattering. He reached inside and grabbed each wand off of their pillows before moving down and repeating the action on all of the cases.  
  
“Here,” he said, handing her half of his arm full of wands.  
  
If she hadn’t been so scared she would have rejoiced, her only true want while she was held at Malfoy Manor was to have a wand and now, holding an armful of them, watching Malfoy shove as many as he could into the pockets of his traveling cloak she would give anything not to have them. She would give anything for the safety she felt here to be restored.   
  
He was taking them all back now, storing them away in his cloak but he stopped when he got to the last one, 14 inches, willow with unicorn hair, Ron’s wand. Her hand trembled slightly holding it and she waited for him to take it but he did not. He was looking at her, jaw tight, eyes searching hers.  
  
A great crash from downstairs caused them both to jump and snap out of their daze. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to the door of his study, glancing out. She was trembling, clutching the wand in her hand, feeling its magic vibrating through her. It’d been so long… He turned to her suddenly, looking at her and then he grabbed her by the arms, looking into her eyes.  
  
“Stay behind me. No matter what happens you stay behind me and let me fight. You do not fight.”  
  
She was so scared she couldn’t think straight, only stare dumbly back at him, holding her wand in front of her, angled at the ground, just like Lupin had taught her. Draco’s hands moved to cup her face, his eyes boring into hers.  
  
“Hey, you gotta listen to me, love. Hermione, hey,” he said when her eyes flicked away from him, looking down at the wand in her hand. “You have to do what I say. Do not fight them. I can’t fight them if I’m trying to protect you so please, Hermione,” his palms tightened around her cheeks, his hands shaking, “please don’t fight.”  
  
“I-I won’t,” she stuttered, and tucked the wand into the sleeve of her robes.   
  
“Promise me,” he said through gritted teeth, shaking her a little and tears began to stream down her face again. “Promise me.”  
  
“I p-p-promise,” she said finally and he rested his forehead against hers, her hands going to grip his wrists.  
  
“Promise me that if something happens to me you’ll run.” His voice broke as he said it and she couldn’t stop the sob from breaking from her throat.   
  
“Draco, no,” she said, shaking her head against his, her fingers gripping his wrists tight.  
  
“You have to promise me.”  
  
“No, no I won’t.” She was hysterical now, her entire body shaking, hiccoughing with severe sobs.  
  
“Then we’re both going to fucking die in this room!” he yelled and she jumped as he ripped his body away from hers, turning away from her to tear his hands through his hair.   
  
He turned back to her, his face pale and scared and she was reminded of him in his first year at Hogwarts…eleven years old and going into the forbidden forest for detention. She wanted nothing more than to hold him, to tell him that she was sorry, that she would only ever think of him, that she loved him.   
  
“Promise me, Granger,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Promise me right now.”  
  
“I can’t-”  
  
“PROMISE ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” he yelled and the glass in the windows blew out from the force of it, drawing in the cold February air. He was against her again in two strides, his hand around her throat, choking her slightly. “Promise me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke. “Please, Hermione.”  
  
“I promise,” she gasped finally and he crushed his lips to hers, tongue sliding in, tasting her briefly before pulling away.  
  
He stepped out into the hall, she directly behind him, and it was like a bomb went off. Curses and hexes flew around them and he stopped them all with a cross wave of his hands, the power radiating off of him like heat, as four Death Eaters were knocked on their backs.  
  
And then they were running, tearing down the hall, her hand clutching the back of his robes to keep up. They reached the landing and Adrian Pucey jumped out of the shadows, sending a curse at Draco, hitting him square in the chest. He fell back into Hermione, who pushed back, keeping him upright. It took him a split second to regain his composure, the killing curse slipping from his lips so fast it was barely uttered, Pucey falling to the ground in an instant.  
  
Hermione was trembling hard, as they stepped over the fallen body, racing down the stairs and out the front door. She shivered as they ran across the driveway, heading towards the tree line. She looked back, seeing thick clouds of smoke billowing from the roof, flames licking from the upstairs windows.   
  
She felt a hand wrap around her wrist and yelped as she was pulled back, her fingers ripping away from Draco’s traveling cloak. She was pulled roughly against someone’s body, the smell of whiskey and spice invading her senses, a large hand clutching at her chest, holding her in place.  
  
She yelled his name but was silenced immediately, another mammoth hand closing over her mouth. Her blood ran cold as a slow, booming voice echoed into the night.  
  
“Malfoy! Wouldn’t wanna leave without your Mudblood, would you?”  
  
Malfoy had stopped in his tracks and was now watching her struggle against her captor, a cold fury like none she had ever seen etching across his face. A bitter wind had kicked up, blowing his traveling cloak around his ankles, slicking back his shock blond hair.   
  
“Let her go, Warrington!” Malfoy yelled over the din of fire and wind. “Let her go and I’ll spare your sorry life.”  
  
“I dunno, Malfoy,” Warrington called back, his large hand squeezing her breast painfully, his breath hot against her cheek. “Maybe I’ll play with her awhile…I’ll let you watch.”  
  
She cringed as she felt Warrington’s tongue slide up her face from her jaw to her temple, fighting the bile that rose in her throat. He was holding her tight but her legs were free enough to where she could stomp on his foot. She looked at Draco, praying for the first time that he was listening to her think. Her eyes were locked in his and he gave her the most imperceptible nod.  
  
Warrington cried out as her foot came down hard on his, hearing the crack of the bones as he let her go. She fled to Draco, who was running towards her, throwing herself in his arms. He pried her off him almost immediately and walked back to Warrington’s collapsed form. A swift kick to the head sent Warrington fully to the ground, but Draco did not stop there.  
  
“Stupid,” _kick_ , “bloody,” _kick_ , “Ponce,” _kick_ , “I’ll,” _kick_ , “fucking,” _kick_ , “kill you”  
  
“Draco!” Hermione yelled, watching as dark figures were coming toward them from a distance.   
  
He glanced up and followed her gaze. He turned to run and then as if on an afterthought, pulled out a wand and pointed it directly at Warrington’s broken and bleeding form.  
  
“Avada Kedavra, you fucking son of a bitch.”  
  
The green light exploded from the end of his wand, engulfing Warrington’s entire body from the force of it. Draco stood there panting, and Hermione tugged on his sleeve, trying to get him to run. He finally obliged, and they fled into the trees, tearing through the darkness, hearing the Death Eaters right on their heels.  
  
He stopped abruptly, the hand that was holding hers jerking her back against him, holding her body close to his as he pressed his back hard against a large oak tree. His hand covered her mouth, silencing her ragged breathing. She could feel his heart racing against her breasts, breathing hard through his nose. She clutched him tighter, both his arms wrapping around her as they heard a group of Death Eaters run past them. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, her teeth sinking into his neck to silence the sobs.  
  
It was almost quiet then but they still did not move, hearing the Death Eaters in the distance making their way further into the forest. His arms loosened around her and he stepped around the tree, looking back onto the open lawn of Malfoy Manor. She peered around the side, gasping loudly when she saw that the manor, her home, was nothing but a giant fireball. She looked up at Draco, finding his face blank, but his jaw clenched, the fire dancing in his glassy eyes. She reached out to touch his hand but he jerked away from her, blinking quickly before looking away.  
  
“We need to make it to the grave,” he said his voice thick and she nodded her head. “I’ve hidden a Portkey there.”  
  
“Why can’t we apparate?” she asked and he glared at her, causing her to flinch a little at the anger in his eyes.  
  
“Because they put up an anti-apparition spell before they started setting everything on fire,” he spat and she looked at the ground. “Don’t ask questions right now.”  
  
She nodded slipping her hand in his, his body jerking at the contact but holding hers none the less. They trekked slowly through the undergrowth, stopping to cringe every time a twig snapped beneath their feet. She led the way, knowing it by heart even in the pitch black night.   
  
They finally reached the dense thicket of trees and Hermione whispered her own name, listening as the trees uprooted themselves to let them pass. They slipped through the opening, she sighing quietly in relief when it closed behind them.   
  
Draco brushed past her, walking behind the great stone to look around. He looked back at her and nodded, telling her it was still there. She nodded back, bracing herself as her eyes fell on the stele’s blank surface. Draco pursed his lips and then waved his hand in front of the stone silently, the words appearing slowly.  
  
“Say goodbye,” he said, his voice strained, crossing his arms over his chest. She looked at him blankly. “We may never come back here again. Tell him goodbye.”  
  
She swallowed hard, stepping to the grave marker, her eyes tracing the letters of his name. She took a deep breath, bringing her hand to her lips, kissing her finger-tips and pressing them to the “R” in his name as her eyes slipped shut, her other hand tightening around his wand.  
  
Her movement was so sudden she hadn’t really comprehended it until she heard the snap and she was holding the two broken halves of his wand in each hand. She heard Draco gasp but did not look at him, bending down to shove the broken pieces into the moist earth in front of the stone.   
  
She reached her hand out and he took it, both still not looking at each other as he bent down and she felt the familiar pull behind her navel, leaving the thicket of trees behind, possibly forever.


	14. With Her Last Breath

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy tumbled awkwardly onto brittle grass, a cool wind blowing against their cheeks. There was a rushing in the distance, the smell of salt in the air and she knew they must be near the coast. She heard him heave a sigh, relaxing back against the grass, running a hand over his face. Hermione sat up and looked around, the full moon lighting the hilly meadow around them.   
  
“Hermione,” he whispered and she looked over at him questioningly, but her head snapped away when the ground rumbled.  
  
She nearly jumped out of her skin, seeing a small cottage climbing from the earth, the windows dark. Draco grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, walking towards the door. Just as he was about to grab for the knob the door swung open and Hermione jumped back, her eyes growing wide as the form of Ginny Weasley stood there, looking perplexed.  
  
“Oh my god, Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed, flinging herself at the astonished witch, arms hugging her tightly.  
  
“Ginny?” she asked unbelievingly, clutching the younger girl, heart pounding hard in her chest.  
  
“Let’s go inside,” Draco said, clearing his throat uncomfortably and Ginny let go of Hermione with a sigh.  
  
“Oh Malfoy, you’re so sentimental. Stop, I think I may cry,” Ginny replied sarcastically, turning to go into the house.   
  
Hermione looked at him but he refused to meet her eyes, holding out his arm, allowing her entry before him. The cottage was small but cozy and Ginny led them into the kitchen chattering on as she brewed some tea.  
  
“I’m going upstairs to talk to Neville,” Draco said after Ginny had handed him a cup.  
  
“Neville!” Hermione exclaimed. “Neville’s here too?”  
  
“Yes, Hermione,” Ginny said laughing a little, looking at her as if she were crazy then her face going unsure. “Didn’t…didn’t Malfoy tell you? Malfoy! What the hell-”  
  
Draco cleared his throat cutting her off and shifting uncomfortably, taking a single sip of his tea before setting it down and leaving the room without a word. Hermione reached to catch his arm but he pulled out of her grasp, disappearing into the hall.  
  
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” Ginny muttered, sitting across the table from Hermione and shaking her head.  
  
“You’ve been here this entire time?” Hermione asked and Ginny nodded, swallowing the tea in her mouth before speaking.  
  
“After we were captured by the Snatchers we were taken to some island somewhere and auctioned off to the highest bidder. I was brought out here-”  
  
“And where is here?” Hermione asked, looking around  
  
“We’re about twenty kilometers out of Nice,” she replied and then looked at Hermione disbelievingly. “Malfoy didn’t tell you any of this?”  
  
“No,” Hermione said through clenched teeth, anger boiling hot inside her. “No, he didn’t.”  
  
“He was probably just trying to protect you,” Ginny said and Hermione gave her a dubious look.   
  
“Or he was trying to torture me,” Hermione spat but with little conviction, her heart aching as she uttered the hurtful words. She shook her head. “But how did you end up here?”  
  
“I was taken to the middle of this field by one of the Snatchers and imagine my bloody surprise when Draco fucking Malfoy came out of nowhere. I could have strangled him right there.” Hermione smiled.  
  
“My sentiments exactly,” she replied wryly, bringing her cup to her lips, remembering her first encounter with Malfoy. My, how things had changed.  
  
“Well, he didn’t explain anything, the stupid berk, and I was in this cottage by myself for three days. What kind of man leaves a pregnant woman by herself for three days?” Ginny scoffed angrily but then her eyes softened a little. “But then Neville arrived, and then Seamus and Dean, and Lavender, and then finally Luna. I guess one by one Draco had somehow acquired us all. We were all so worried about you, wondering when you would show up on our doorstep too. Finally Malfoy told us that you’d been with him since we were first captured. If Neville hadn’t held me back I would have beaten him senseless! Making us all worry like that when you had been safe and sound all along.” Ginny reached out and clasped Hermione’s hand.   
  
“So, Draco has been keeping you all here this entire time?” Hermione asked, her mind still buzzing with astonishment and confusion.  
  
“Yes,” Ginny said, taking another sip of her tea, giving her another dubious look. “He’s been working with Neville on planning an attack on Voldemort.” Hermione’s jaw dropped.  
  
“He has?” she gasped.  
  
“Yes,” Ginny said looking at Hermione unbelievingly. “Surely you knew, Hermione? He’s been here so much.”  
  
“I didn’t know where he was going,” Hermione said, her voice soft as her mind reeled.  
  
“He’s a good man, Hermione,” Ginny said after a moment, not meeting her eyes, her voice solemn, somewhat resentful. “He has protected us all, keeping us here and out of sight and for that I will always,” she paused swallowing hard and then rather begrudgingly, “owe him my life.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, knowing the feeling of hating Malfoy so deeply, but still owing him everything very, very well.  
  
“Well, if it weren’t for James I’d just say bugger it all and go off on my own. Malfoy be damned.”  
  
“James?” Hermione asked, her eyes widening, her heart beginning to pound. She glanced down at Ginny’s slight form. It had been nearly half a year since she had seen the witch, who had been ready to pop any day.  
  
“James,” Ginny said nodding and then her mouth opened in a silent “oh,” gasping slightly. “Oh my god, you’ve never seen James! Come upstairs!”  
  
Ginny grabbed Hermione’s hand, sloshing tea onto the table in her haste to pull the older woman from her seat. Hermione smiled as Ginny pulled her up the stairs eagerly, years of friendship sliding through her mind and she was fourteen years old again, Ginny dragging her up the stairs at the Burrow to show her some new beauty potion she had somehow acquired without her mother’s knowledge.   
  
She passed an open door and glancing in she saw Neville and Draco standing over a table strewn with parchment, talking quietly. Neville caught her eye, his words slowing to a stop as a grin came over his face. Draco followed his gaze, confused, and upon seeing her he pursed his lips, reaching over to shut the door silently in her face.  
  
“Hermione!” Ginny whispered and Hermione looked up to find Ginny down the hall, waving her over and grinning.  
  
Hermione stepped into the small room, the blue walls gathering light from the rising sun that was filtering in through the window. There were little sailboats painted on the walls and a small mobile of Quidditch players hanging above the crib in the middle of the room. Hermione’s heart was racing as she stepped towards it, and peering over she saw a tiny baby boy with jet black hair, sound asleep, his thumb in his mouth. Hermione gasped, tears springing to her eyes and she glanced at Ginny who was looking down lovingly on the boy.  
  
“He’ll be six months on the twenty-eighth,” Ginny whispered softly, her fingers combing through the child’s hair.  
  
“Harry’s child,” Hermione whispered, wanting nothing more than to snatch him up and hug him close, this little piece of Harry.  
  
“Yes,” Ginny said her voice breaking slightly but she smiled quickly. “Harry’s son.”  
  
Hermione was just about to reply, when she saw Draco Malfoy’s cloaked form walking across the meadow, barely visible in the growing light of morning. Her brows knitted, turning away without a word and bounding down the stairs and out the front door.  
  
She called his name and when he did not stop she broke into a run, closing the distance between them quickly. She grabbed his arm, spinning him to face her and found him looking down angrily at her.  
  
“I was calling you!” Hermione said, out of breath.  
  
“Yes, I heard,” he drawled and she scowled up at him.  
  
“Where are you going?” she asked and he looked away from her, a gentle breeze blowing his hair back.  
  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Don’t tell me not to worry about it. Where are you going?” Hermione asked, her voice raising slightly and he looked back at her.  
  
“Didn’t I tell you not to ask so many bloody questions?”  
  
“Draco,” she said firmly and he looked at her with a sigh. “Where are you going?”  
  
“London,” he said finally and she pursed her lips at him.  
  
“No, you’re not. Don’t lie.”  
  
“I can’t tell you where I’m going, Granger,” he said through gritted teeth and she glared at him angrily before sighing in frustration, forcing herself to be calm.  
  
“Where are you going, Draco?”  
  
He looked away from her again, eyes scanning the horizon, watching the sun make its way steadily into the sky. There was a bruise blooming on his cheekbone, and a gash on his neck she hadn’t noticed in the panic of their escape. Framed against the gray sky, in the early morning light he looked like some kind of broken angel, his face blank but his eyes, his eyes always so full. He looked down.  
  
“I’m going to find Voldemort,” he said softly and Hermione gasped. “Well not find him per say; I know where he is. I’m going to kill him.”  
  
The stillness between them was heavy, shock silencing Hermione and fear keeping him quiet. He refused to meet her eyes, scuffing his shoes in the dirt, tearing up the browned grass and scattering it into the wind.  
  
“I’m coming with you,” she said suddenly, matter of factly, grabbing onto his arm, preparing to apparate.  
  
“You can’t go with me,” he said, trying to pull his arm from hers but she refused to let go.  
  
“Yes, I can,” she said, her voice shaking a little, fighting the panic that was growing inside her.  
  
“No, you can’t,” he said firmly, his free hand gripping her wrist, squeezing hard, trying to get her to release him.  
  
“No,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face now, fighting the pain, still holding on for dear life. “No, don’t leave me!”  
  
“Hermione,” he muttered, annoyed, pulling hard on her wrist causing her to cry out as she released him, falling to the ground as severe sobs shook her body.  
  
“Draco! Stop!” she called, as he turned from her and began walking resolutely away. Her body hiccoughing with sobs, she yelled, “You can’t leave me here!”  
  
She was scratching at her arms, frantic now, watching his retreating form. He couldn’t leave her. He was all she had. For so long all she had wanted was to be with Ginny and Neville and all of her friends, she had missed them and mourned for them and now that she was here, with them she didn’t care. She wanted him. She needed him, and he was walking away.  
  
“DRACO!” she yelled her voice breaking, holding onto herself, fearing that she was going to shake herself apart. “STOP!” But he didn’t stop, didn’t even pause. “IF YOU LOVED ME YOU’D STOP!”  
  
It was as if the wind had died as soon as she’d uttered the words, the syllables echoing into the air, ringing out like a bell. And he stopped. And she crawled to him on hands and knees, her pride be damned. Choking and sobbing she grabbed onto his cloak, pulling herself up his body to hug his knees, his back still to her.  
  
“Please, Draco!” she sobbed hysterically. “Please don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. I’ll never ask you another question. I’ll never think of Ron again. Please, please, please don’t leave me!”  
  
He was trying to turn around but her arms were wrapped so tightly around his legs that he lost his balance, falling forward. She climbed up his body as he turned over to face her, crawling into his lap and clutching at his chest. She was sobbing so hard, her words were indecipherable, aside from the random “please” and “Draco” she wasn’t even sure what she was saying, her fingers clawing at him, body pushing so close to his it was as if she were trying to crawl inside him.  
  
“Hermione, shhhhh,” he whispered, his hands brushing over her hair, trying to calm her.  
  
“You…you can’t leave me, Draco,” she sobbed. “I love you, you can’t leave me here. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you say. I won’t talk to anyone. I’ll stay out of sight. You can use legilimancy all you want. Please, Draco, please!”  
  
“Hermione,” he whispered,” his voice breaking a little. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous. You can’t.”  
  
“Then don’t go!” she screamed. “You don’t have to go! Just stay here with us. Stay here with me. Please!”  
  
“You know I can’t,” he said with a sigh.  
  
“Yes, you can!” she said, tugging hard on his cloak, trying to pull him closer still. “Don’t go. It’s not your fight!”  
  
“Yes it is!” he said harshly, grabbing her arms. “I have to do this. I have to make this right.”  
  
“Don’t leave me, Draco!” she pleaded, her arms moving to circle his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. “You have to let me stay with you. You have to protect me. You promised. You promised, Ron.”  
  
“Hermione, don’t,” he begged, arms tightening around her. “Please don’t do this. You can’t come. You’ll be killed…or worse. You have to stay here.”  
  
“No, I don’t want to. I love you. I love you. I love you.”  
  
He said nothing after that, his grip just tightening around her, rocking them back and forth as she sobbed, muttering “I love you” continuously until it didn’t even sound like words anymore, until the meaning was entrenched so deeply in both their brains that they were filled with it to the breaking point.   
  
She was starting to calm down, his soft shushing comforting her, the hand in her hair moving continuously. She pulled back from him a little to look at his face. His cheeks were wet and he sniffed loudly, turning away from her but she wouldn’t let him, wiping away his tears with her thumbs, crushing her mouth to his. Her tongue slid into his mouth and he moaned a little, his hands tightening around her waist. He pulled away panting, looking away from her and squeezing his eyes shut, steeling himself.  
  
“Hermione,” he said evenly and she began shaking her head, her body beginning to tremble. “Hermione, listen to me. Listen to me!” He gave her a little shake and she gasped, biting her bottom lip to control her sobs. “You will stay here…no,” he added as she started to hiccough again. “None of that now.” His thumbs brushed away the few tears that slipped down her cheeks. “You will stay here and I will come back for you. _I will come back for you._ Do you understand?”  
  
“Draco,” she coughed, sniffling pitifully, hands clutching at his traveling cloak again, fingers wringing the fabric miserably.  
  
“Do you understand me, love?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “I’m coming back for you. Only for you. Will you wait for me? Please, Hermione, say you’ll wait for me.”  
  
“Please, no,” she whimpered, burying her face in his chest and his arms wrapped around her again, holding her close.  
  
“Please, Hermione,” he begged, his voice breaking as tears slipped from his own eyes. “Please promise me you’ll wait for me.”  
  
Hermione fortified herself, pulling back to look him in the face, his silver eyes glassy and needy, scared but hopeful. She cupped his face in her hands and his eyes fell shut, two tears sliding down his face, her lips catching them before they reached his jaw. She waited for him to open his eyes and when he did she nodded.  
  
“I’ll wait for you,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “I promise, Draco. I’ll wait.”  
  
His lips crashed into hers, pouring every ounce of love and trust and want into that kiss, holding onto her for dear life. She drew away, her mouth pulling tight in a sob, fresh tears falling from her eyes. She felt him suck in his breath and press his lips hard to her forehead before pulling away from her and getting to his feet.   
  
Hermione fell forward, fingers digging into the moist earth, shivering from the loss of his warmth. She looked up just in time to see him crest a small hill, turning to look over his shoulder at her, pale blond hair blowing across his face, silhouetted against the bright, gray sky, giving him an iridescent glow. A ghost of a smile passed over his face before he turned away and disappeared down the hill.  
  
Blind panic hit her then, and she scrambled to her feet, running up the small crest of land, gasping when the coastline came into view, the waves rolling in serenely as if the entire world wasn’t crashing down on her. He was nowhere in sight and her legs collapsed from beneath her, falling onto the grass, her chest heaving, no tears left to cry.  
  
Her only solace was that he was coming back. He had promised her. And she had promised him that she would wait. She would wait for him forever, because he was coming back. He had promised her.   
  



	15. Mourning Day

It was Luna Lovegood’s idea to hold the Mourning Day, commemorating the battle of Hogwarts and while Hermione Granger valued the sentiment she was not in the mood for mourning. It seemed to be all she had done for the past year, grieving for her lost friends and for her lost self. She had changed so much in those last twelve months, so much of them spent fighting if not Voldemort, then Draco Malfoy.  
  
She winced at his name, the pang of longing in her chest intensified by his memory. Four months had come and gone since he had left her, broken and sobbing in the meadow just outside Seagull Cottage, and still he had not returned. About three weeks after he had gone, a letter came requesting that Neville, Dean and Seamus meet him in London. He had written nothing to her, just enclosed a sprig of thyme, which to this day she still used as a crumbling bookmark, his scent long gone from it but she just couldn’t bring herself to throw it out.  
  
 _I will come back for you.  
_  
His words haunted her every thought and every dream, and she was just here, waiting, like she had promised. Doubt, disgusting and bitter, was with her often, taunting her that he was not coming back, that he had lied. It had been easy to shake these nagging feelings in the beginning but as time stretched on, with no further correspondence from him, it became harder and harder to believe. But she had promised him she would wait. She would wait forever.  
  
“That looks lovely, Hermione.”   
  
Luna’s dreamy voice broke Hermione from her reverie and she had almost forgotten the crown of flowers she was constructing. Thyme was not a good flower to choose when making a Mourning Day crown but no one had mentioned it. They all knew Hermione’s close connection with the herb, and indeed she knew that it would be a poor material for construction but she knew nothing else, would choose nothing else. The little white flowers, not quite fragrant yet, held a piece of Draco and she was desperate, ravenous for any part of him she could latch onto. She sighed, looking out onto the beach, where Lavender and Ginny were collecting shells for table adornment.   
  
“Now, James I’ve told you,” Luna said for the umpteenth time, looking at the baby who was reaching towards Luna’s crown of aster blossoms. “This one is not yours.”  
  
Hermione smiled softly at the little boy, their man of the house. He was growing so quickly, the spitting image of Harry, aside from his bright blue eyes, and had the exact disposition of Ron which often made her laugh and only every once and a while made her cry.   
  
Long nights sitting up with Ginny had given her a lot of perspective on her relationship with Ron in association with her relationship with Draco. “You aren’t betraying him, Hermione.” Ginny had said one evening, rocking James steadily while he slept, “You’re moving on. I don’t know why it had to be with bloody Malfoy but it’s what you’re doing.” The younger witch had been begrudgingly coming around to the fact that Draco, in atoning for his past sins, had given them all a second chance at life. “Moving on is the only way we can survive this,” Ginny had added quietly, smudging a thumb against James’ ruddy cheek. Hermione had asked when Ginny was planning on taking her own advice and Ginny had responded very maturely by sticking her tongue out at her.   
  
“Are we ready?” Lavender asked, and Hermione jumped not hearing the woman coming up behind her.  
  
“I believe so,” Luna replied, handing her a crown of lavender which the girl giggled at, placing it on her head, smiling. “And Ginny for you,” Luna said, handing up a wreath of red yarrow, which clashed brilliantly with Ginny’s red hair.  
  
Luna placed the crown of asters on her own head before situating a tiny wreath of gaillardia on James’ hair which he promptly pulled off and put in his mouth. Ginny rolled her eyes, taking the half eaten crown from the child, who scowled up at his mother but quickly smiled when she picked him up.   
  
“Put on your crown, Hermione,” Luna said after she had stood and was reaching her hand out to her.  
  
Hermione looked down at the pile of thyme in her hands and pressed it to her head, the twine coming loose immediately, merely peppering her hair with the small white flowers. She frowned as the herb fell around her, some sticking in her wild hair but Luna shook her head, telling her it was alright.   
  
Making her way to the front of the house with Luna, Hermione saw a long table, set and decorated with flowers from the garden and seashells from the beach. There were five chairs, one for each of the women and then one extra, a place for those they had lost, placed at the head of the table.  
  
Taking her seat next to Ginny, Hermione eyed the chair wearily, knots tying in her stomach. This was a horrible idea. Too much had come to pass and even the simple act of remembering was hard. Ginny bounced James on her knee, allowing him to gum a carrot as they all sat silently, no one really eating.   
  
The silence was only broken when Lavender gasped loudly. All eyes turned to her, even little James who was so startled he dropped his carrot. Lavender’s eyes were locked on the horizon and perplexed, Hermione followed her gaze, a gasp tearing from her throat as well.  
  
Three figures were walking towards them, cresting the hill. Lavender was out of her seat before any of the others even had a chance to comprehend it, tearing across the meadow towards the men. Hermione stood immediately, heart pounding hard in her chest as she walked quickly towards the men, breaking into a run when she saw Lavender throw herself into Seamus’ arms.   
  
Neville and Dean laughed as their mate swung Lavender in his arms, listening to her squeals of excitement. Hermione looked around desperately, searching for that shock blond head, that scent of thyme.  
  
“You’re back!” Ginny exclaimed as she walked up, James sitting on her hip, hiding his face shyly.  
  
“Where’s Draco?” Hermione asked, still scanning the distance for him…waiting. Still waiting…  
  
“How was your trip?” Luna asked as if they’d been on vacation, and the rest of the group shared a look before laughing slightly.  
  
“Successful,” Neville said and all chatter stopped, a shocked silence settling over them.  
  
“Successful?” Ginny asked slowly, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Successful as in…?”  
  
She trailed not wanting to hope, none of them wanting to hope anymore after all that had happened. But Neville nodded slowly, a smile creeping up his face, unsure, like the muscles weren’t really used to doing it anymore. Then it was as if a bomb had detonated, everyone whooping and hollering, crying and rejoicing. All except Hermione, who was still searching the horizon.  
  
“Where is Draco!?” she finally yelled over the din..  
  
“Yes, where is Draco?” Ginny asked, dancing in a circle, James giggling gleefully. “Watch out Hermione, I may just snog him silly.”   
  
“Where is he?” Hermione asked, grabbing onto Dean’s arm to stop his dizzying movement.  
  
“Um…” he trailed, looking at Neville who was pulling away from Luna, to stand in front of Hermione, his face growing solemn.  
  
“Where is he?” Hermione asked, her chest tightening, heart threatening to beat through her ribs. He promised.  
  
“I’m sorry, Hermione…” Neville said, taking her hands in his and the entire world stopped spinning.  
  
He promised. He had promised her he would come back. She had waited. She had waited for him. He had to be coming back. Her breathing was hitching, Neville’s face blurring as tears surfaced in her eyes. She felt him squeeze her hands and she closed her eyes, waiting for the words. She wouldn’t believe it until they said the words.  
  
“I’m sorry Hermione…” Neville said again, his voice brimming with something Hermione couldn’t place. “He’s…” She wouldn’t believe it until he said the words. “He’s right over there.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes flew open to see Neville grinning at her, and then he tilted his head to the left. Hermione’s head snapped in that direction and she gave out a strangled cry as she saw the form of Draco Malfoy standing atop the small hill, hands in his pockets, hair blown back from his face.  
  
Hermione took off running, barely hearing Ginny exclaim, “Neville, you right bastard!” followed by a loud smack and Neville’s repentant reply. “OW! I’m sorry! It was his idea…”   
  
Hermione’s legs couldn’t move fast enough, her hair whipped back, every muscle in her body straining forward, trying to reach him. He was grinning at her, just standing there and when she got within five feet of him he threw his arms out, allowing her to fling herself at him, legs wrapping around his waist, hands clutching at his back. He staggered slightly as she plowed into him and eventually toppled backwards onto the soft summer grass.   
  
She was sobbing so hard now, her hands clutching at his shirt, mouth pressing kisses all over his face as the words “Draco”, “missed you” and “you promised” spilling incoherently from her lips. He was laughing, his hands trying to grab her and hold onto her so he could kiss her properly.  
  
“Woman, would you hold still!” he exclaimed after a moment, and she obliged, rewarded by his lips crushing hers, tongue sliding in to taste her.  
  
He pulled back, falling back against the grass, his hands moving up behind his head, and gazing up at her. She was beaming down at him, silent tears of joy still streaming down her cheeks, her hands still clutching at his chest, sitting on his lap.  
  
“You’re back!” she stated happily and he gave her a condescending look.  
  
“Astute observation there, Granger,” he deadpanned and she swatted at him. Then she gasped, coming back to herself somewhat and she smacked him hard on the chest causing him to yelp in surprise. “Draco Malfoy, you bastard!” she shrieked and he looked up at her astonished. “How dare you make me think you weren’t coming!”  
  
“What, it was Neville’s idea!” Draco exclaimed, his voice jumping an octave and she hit him again.   
  
“Don’t lie to me!” she yelled, grinning down at him and he laughed again, dazzling her so that she had to lean down and kiss him again.   
  
His hands gripped her face, pulling her in deeper before delving into her hair, sending thyme raining down in a shower around them. He pulled back smiling, his silver eyes shining like diamonds. He pulled a sprig from her hair and twirled it in his long fingers.  
  
“Rolling around in the garden?” he asked, flicking it into the wind before threading his fingers through hers.  
  
“It was my Mourning Day crown,” she said, gazing down at him, not really believing that he was back.  
  
“Mourning Day?” he scoffed, his face turning into a sneer and she kissed him again quickly, just because she could. “Today is a day for rejoicing, Hermione,” he said softly when she pulled away, his hands cupping her face again, her hair hanging in a curtain around their faces.  
  
“Is it true?” she whispered, her lips brushing his as she dared to say the words, dared to hope.  
  
“Yes,” he said so softly it was barely even uttered.  
  
Hermione’s eyes closed, tears squeezing out as a weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying was lifted. It was over. Seven years of fighting, and running, and loss were over. The day that she had longed for had finally come. She opened her eyes finding him staring at her intently, continually tucking a stray curl behind her ear that kept blowing free. Gazing down at him she wondered briefly what would happen to them now. For the better part of her life she had been struggling, chasing this victory and now that it was hers, she was at a loss as to what to do next.  
  
“So,” she breathed, her fingers threading through his silken hair, “what do we do now?”  
  
“Everything,” was his reply as he crushed his lips to hers.


End file.
